Oh Captain, My Captain
by losingmyangelgrace
Summary: (Post Into Darkness) Spock had waited anxiously. Two weeks had past since Jim's brush with death and his emotions, usually so sealed off were close to the surface. Reaching the hospital after getting a call to tell him that his Captain was finally awake, he was shocked to find that upon arrival, instead of the sweet relief he'd been expecting it was anything but...
1. Hang The Rules

**Chapter One – Hang The Rules**

"Why have you asked me to come here, Doctor McCoy?" Spock asked, canting his head to the side as he sat across from the Chief Medical Officer in the hospital's canteen. He felt extremely out of place, all he'd wanted to do was to visit Jim, to check he was okay and to hold his lover once again in his arms. When Jim had died Spock had felt his world collapsing in on him, the anger and despair had been parallel, maybe even worse to what he'd felt when his mother had been killed but at least he'd been able to save Jim. Taking his aggression out on Kahn had felt utterly right before restraining him so that Doctor McCoy could use the super-human's blood to revive his Captain. The relief had been intense but short lived as his anxieties grew as more time had passed and Jim still hadn't awoken but now, now Jim was awake and he wanted to see him but before he'd been able to enter the man's room Dr. McCoy had accosted him and now he was sitting here, not drinking the coffee the Georgian man had bought him.

McCoy sighed as he rubbed the bridge of his nose, his ever present frown deepening and Spock continued to watch him, growing ever impatient, "Well Doctor?"

"He has retrograde amnesia," McCoy blurted. Spock was stunned, the doctor continued, "It means that he can't-"

"I know what it means," Spock said hollowly. Despair filled him, he tried to push it back, to gain control of all of the emotions that had been so close to surface ever since _that day_, but he couldn't. Anguish flowed through him and he looked away from McCoy, not wanting to be seen in such a vulnerable state.

Retrograde amnesia, most likely brought on by Jim's own death, rendered the patient incapable of recollecting events prior to the onset of the amnesia, otherwise known as long-term memory loss, the odds of his Captain recovering were so slim Spock didn't even care to work them out. Nausea rolled through him and Spock closed his eyes, taking five deep and grounding breathes. "Does Jim," he started before his voice cracked and he cleared his throat before starting again, "Does Jim remember anything at all?"

"Nothing. He can't even remember anything from his childhood, which considering his age is highly unusual," McCoy explained, patients of twenty-five or older normally remembered early childhood memories, but oh no, not Jim, he always had to throw a spanner in the works. This whole debacle was going to be hard on all of them, not only had they lost their Captain but they'd lost a friend and in Spock's case, the love of his life. "I know this is going to be hardest on you Spock but-"

"You cannot fathom just how hard this is on me, Doctor," he spoke emotionally, stunning McCoy into silence as their eyes met and he saw the wetness that came before tears shining in the Vulcan's eyes. The Doctor was convinced long ago that Mr. Spock didn't feel as strongly as full humans did but here was the proof he needed to know that he'd been wrong, the half-Vulcan looked a wreck as he wiped his eyes, furious at his display. McCoy reached out his hand to try and grasp Spock's arm, to offer him some kind of comfort for what he was about to tell him next but the commanding officer pulled his arms away, placing them on his lap under the table.

"When can I see him? Maybe I can help him regain his memory," Spock said in a firm voice, despite the emotions waging a war inside of him. Would Jim still be his Jim or would the amnesia have completely changed his personality, he didn't know but he just wanted to see him. To see with his own eyes that Jim was alright even if he didn't know who Spock was, it would be painful but he couldn't imagine it would be anywhere near as bad as when he'd watch his lover die in front of his eyes, completely helpless.

"That's the thing Spock," McCoy mumbled, looking down at the table and refusing the meet the Vulcan's eyes.

"What's the…thing?" Spock asked warily, glaring at the human across the table from him.

"You can't see him."

Bewilderment blossomed in Spock's head, allowing him to only growl, "Why?" unable, in his current state of mind, to work out the logical reasoning behind this.

McCoy leaned closer to him, lowering his voice as he said, "What we did, no matter the devastation we caused on the city, was still a classified mission. We are not allowed to tell him what happened or even-"

Cutting the doctor off Spock said anxiously, "There must be something in regulation-"

Interrupting, McCoy continued angrily, his voice still low, "The new board of directors have ruled that Jim go back to normal, everyday life. Honestly I think they're just trying to get him out of Starfleet's hair, since they're just taking into account all of the rules he broke and not the fact that he's the best Captain in the whole goddamned fleet! They're decommissioning the Enterprise and are assigning us all too different ships."

"But…they…" Spock floundered, his ears must have been deceiving him, they weren't going to rebuild the Enterprise? He couldn't understand it, that ship was his home and it contained his family. Going off on another ship wasn't an option. "How do you know this Doctor?" he asked, trying to find out as much information as he could so he could try and put an appeal in to Starfleet command.

McCoy gulped then, looking away from Spock nervously this time, "I was present at the meeting they held this morning about the issue."

"You told me Jim had just awakened when you hailed me earlier," Spock growled. Confusion, anger and loss coursed through him, he didn't know what to think, didn't know what to feel. There was too much emotion for him to push it away, it was overwhelming him, if only he could see Jim, then maybe he could work on controlling himself.

"Spock you gotta know that they ordered me not to tell you. I can't ignore something that comes from that high up. I'm sorry I couldn't tell you but…there's something else you have to kno-"

"Take me to see Jim now."

"You've gotta understand Spock-"

"_Take me to see Jim now._" Spock repeated more forcefully, resisting the urge to lean across the table to grab the man's throat, he contented himself with watching the Doctor's every move. There was something he wasn't being told.

"I can't Spock. He's gone, he was discharged a few hours a go," McCoy said in a low voice, his eyes pleading with Spock to understand but he didn't, he couldn't bring himself to understand. Without another word to the Doctor he took off running, as fast as he could through the hospital. He could hear McCoy shouting behind him, telling him to stop but he couldn't, he had to see for himself.

The elevator moved too slowly for him and he hopped about on the balls of his feet, his control now gone, completely shot. The doors opened and he took off running again, jumping around patients and doctor's alike, not caring whether he hit them or not. The door to Jim's room came closer and closer to him as he ran along the corridor, seemingly of endless length, behind him he heard McCoy shout his name again. The doctor must have followed Spock, taking a different elevator up to the floor.

Throwing the door open, Spock stopped, stunned for the second time that day. He stared at the empty bed, still not quite comprehending. "Jesus, Spock," McCoy panted as he entered the room behind the Vulcan, "What was that all about?"

"I had to see…" he whispered. He moved slowly towards the bed before slumping down onto it in a seated position, just yesterday Jim had lain here. Spock ran a shaking hand over the bed covers, he knew they would have been changed since Jim had left but that didn't stop him imagining that his lover had laid in these very ones. The last time he'd seen Jim he'd been here after all, unmoving but alive as Spock held his hand and talked to him about all of the possibilities they had lying ahead of them once he'd woken up.

Late evening light was slanting in through the windows, how long had it actually been since Jim had woken up? The past two weeks he had practically lived in this hospital and of course the only time he'd taken away from this place, to take stock of himself and to visit some of the crew, to let them know how there captain was doing…Jim had woken up. Now he was gone and Spock didn't know where.

"He was in perfect health when he woke up so they discharged him straight away, I didn't get any say in it," McCoy added, his tone bitter again, "He's been sent to half way house somewhere, to be introduced back into the world."

"Where has he been sent?" Spock asked, his voice deathly quiet as he continued to run his hand in slow circles over the soft sheets.

"I don't know, Spock, I'm sorry," the Doctor's voice was filled with emotion. Spock new it was selfish to not care, everyone on that ship had lost someone but he'd lost his best friend, his lover, his life partner. He those facst allowed him to be somewhat selfish considering the circumstances.

"I'm going to go and find him," Spock decided, standing up without any warning and striding towards the door. McCoy caught a hold of his shoulder, stopping the Vulcan. Spock threw the hand off but stayed still, waiting for the doctor to speak.

"We have been ordered, all of the crew, not to go looking for him. He's not to know he was ever a part of Starfleet just in case some morsel of classified information gets out. I don't like it Spock but you, a person who's always been so caught up on the rules, should be able to understand why they're doing this, even if you don't like it. Don't go looking for him otherwise you'll be kicked out of the fleet faster than you can say 'punch it, Mr. Sulu'" McCoy finished his little speech and looked intently at the Vulcan, watching the play of emotions on the usually masked face. Spock never showed his feelings, but now his face was a sea of them, anger, desire, concern, sentiment, even shame travelled across those hardened features.

Finally he turned to Doctor McCoy, a smile ghosting his lips. "Hang the rules," he said before walking purposefully out of the room, leaving the doctor standing stunned behind him.

* * *

**A/N: I know this wasn't very long, the chapter's will get progressive longer trust me, this is the shortest chapter I think I've ever wrote! haha, I just wanted to put some feelers out with it, I know where this is going but I'm honestly not sure of all of the logistics behind it so hopefully we'll all travel on a journey together if people like it, lol, so yeah, give me some feed back if you want to, I'm all ears :) tumblr is 'losingmyangelgrace' and you know the rest ;) much love!**


	2. Was He Alive?

**Chapter Two – Was He Alive?**

Jim opened his eyes and stared up at the ceiling. It was white, there was nothing special about it, but he knew it was white and that was something at least. He withdrew into himself then, closing his eyes as he tried to test the parameters of his mind, to force himself to remember anything, anything at all from before three days ago, when he'd woken up in that hospital bed not knowing who he was, where he was or how he'd came to get there.

_I am James Tiberius Kirk,_ he reminded himself, running through the list of basic information he'd been told since he'd 'woken up'. _I am twenty-eight years old,_ he continued, _my birthday March 23__rd__, I grew up in Iowa, both my parents are dead and I have a brother who lives at the other end of the galaxy. I was a car mechanic in San Francisco but one night almost three weeks ago I got into a bad crash on my way home from work, my motor bike was totalled but I am, somehow, alive…_

But was he alive, really? He couldn't remember any of his life, so he supposed he was living but that didn't mean he felt alive, not in the sense that people were meant to anyway. Something wasn't sitting right with him too, when he'd woken up in the hospital the doctor had looked at him and had at first addressed him like he knew who Jim was but he couldn't have because his psychiatrist, Tobias, had explained to him yesterday that he'd never met the man in his life. It was puzzling, but everything was puzzling now. He continued to think about the dark haired man, what had his name been? McCoe? McCord? He just couldn't remember. That didn't mean that he didn't try, lying in his new bed on a mattress shaped by another person with his eyes closed he tried to think, to breach the barriers in his mind but that was the problem, there wasn't a barrier just a large empty space where he knew his life should have been.

What troubled him the most though was that he'd been in a motorcycle accident, that's what had led to memory loss but there wasn't anything physically wrong with him. With that kind of incident you expected broken bones, cuts and scrapes, a bruise at least, but there was nothing, absolutely nothing. It had been explained to him that he must have taken a hard blow to the head on impact with the road, to cause this amount of trauma to his brain but once again there was no physical evidence of it. His head was fine, no outward damage to it what so ever. This implied that he had been wearing a helmet during the crash, which was good, he commended himself for his views on personal safety, but what contradicted this was that if he had been wearing a helmet it would have cushioned the blow, and he should have been able to remember what had happened, as well as the past twenty-eight years of his life.

With a huff of frustration he opened his eyes again and sat up, looking around his room. It was sparsely decorated, the walls white like the ceiling and it had light wood flooring, there was also the single bed he was laying in, a wardrobe, a chest of draws and a desk but with no chair for it. His bed was against the wall underneath the window so from his bed he adjusted the tint of the glass to 'clear' by pressing a button on the wall next to it, to look out at the surrounding fields. It was a good view but he wasn't awed by it, so far he hadn't been awed by anything in his new life, not that there was much of it, three days wasn't really a long time after all.

This place that he was living in, Drake House, on the outskirts of Salinas, Kansas, specialized in rehabilitating long-term memory loss patients, allowing them to eventually move out and carry on with everyday life, even if that life was totally different to the one he'd known _before._ As soon as he'd arrived he'd been taken for evaluation, told that the chances are his memory would never come back and he'd have to learn to make a life for himself. At first he hadn't known what they'd meant but he soon found out, for instance, he could talk, although he didn't know what half of the words meant and tenses sometimes eluded him, and he could spell, but he didn't know how to write anymore. He couldn't do simple mathematics but he could solve complex chemistry equations. Just last night he'd wanted a cup of coffee, the craving taking over him as he'd laid in bed but once he was downstairs in the communal kitchen he realized that he didn't know how to make it. The situation he was in was completely maddening, only being able to partly do everyday tasks, sometimes his body remembered how to do things that his mind couldn't and other times his mind would be telling him he wanted something but his body wouldn't know how to react. If it kept up he knew it was literally going drive him in insane.

Mustering the energy he dragged himself out of bed and over to the bathroom attached to his room. It was a modern thing, all white, just like the bedroom, with appliances that you had to talk too to get to work. He still wasn't used to it so when he had to tell the toilet to 'flush' it made him feel slightly self-conscious. Turning the shower on he stripped off the clothes he'd been sleeping in before proceeding to look at himself in the mirror. Despite the fact that he was looking at his own reflection it still felt like a stranger was looking back at him, he didn't know himself anymore but Jim supposed that his face was attractive enough, he wondered what his personal life had been like _before._ Had he had a girlfriend? A boyfriend? What about his friends, surely he must have had some.

It was all very bewildering and it showed in the blue eyes, his eyes, that stared back at him. If he had had a sexual partner or even friends then surely they would have tried to contact him by now. Someone would have been told that he'd been taken into hospital even if they hadn't known he was here in Salinas, wasn't that kind of thing shown on the news? Due to lack of contact though he was starting to think that maybe he didn't have anyone, maybe he was loner with no friends. He shuddered at the thought of having nobody back in San Francisco. From what he'd learned since arriving that the House, friends were important and he had been encouraged to create social relationships with the other residents, he hadn't really tried yet, unsure of the etiquette. What was really holding him back though was the idea that he didn't have any close friends _before_. He'd constantly questioned why that was and hoped that it wasn't because he was a total jackass but still these thoughts had given him misgivings about approaching any of the five other people who lived here simply because he wasn't sure what was actually going to come out of his mouth. It had happened a few times, he'd be trying to think up a response to something when words would just tumble from his lips, a smart comment that wasn't exactly offensive but was still cheeky and it would leave him apologising for hours. What type of person had he actually been like? Did he really want to know?

He didn't feel like he was a bad person but did a psychopath really feel like a psychopath as they killed someone, from what he knew of the word, they were completely and always in control. Could he have been a psychopath? Jim was in control right now but then again since waking up he hadn't had the urge to kill any of the other residents so he wasn't going to give himself any cause for worry by following down that slightly strange vein of thought. Shaking his head he turned away from his reflection and stepped under the stream of water, letting it wash over him, spinning in a slow circle so that none of him was left dry.

As he shampooed his hair he heard strange out of tune music starting to bounce around his bathroom. "_I'm a cowboy, on a steal horse I ride, and I'm wanted, dead or alive."_ Jim hadn't thought there was a music station in his room and he was starting to worry was he hallucinating this song? "_And I walk this street, a loaded six string on my back, I play for keeps 'cos I might not make it back."_ With fearful clarity he realized, there wasn't anything playing the music, he was singing, "_I've been everywhere, and still I'm standing tall, I've seen a million faces, and I've rock 'em all. I'm a cow-"_

He slammed his mouth shut before he could go any further, slightly scared of himself, he couldn't recall ever hearing that song in the past three days so how did he know it?! Fear rolled through him, quickly turning into full blown panic. His breathing rate increased and he felt nauseas, dry retching as he stumbled back, out of the stream of water and pressed himself against the cool tiles in the cubicle. Jim's chest tightened and he flailed, sinking to the floor, his fist's clenched against his thighs. _Remember to breathe_, he thought as he squeezed his eyes shut. He couldn't though, and it became harder and harder to drag vital oxygen into his lungs. Behind his eyes star's bloomed as he felt himself starting to become light-headed. He couldn't pass out here otherwise who knows how long it would be before someone found him.

"Jim, you have to calm down," a voice said from in front of him. His eyes flew open and he held back a scream. He knew the voice hadn't come from him, it wasn't his but he was alone, completely alone in the bathroom. Now scared as well as in the midst of a panic attack, black started to encroach onto his vision, maybe it would just be better to let himself slip away, at least then he wouldn't hear things. "No," the voice growled, "You can get through this Jim."

He closed his eyes again, the voice, it struck something in his head even if he didn't recognise it. Its deep lilting timbre rang of comfort, companionship, he didn't understand but he still grabbed at it as his vision continued to narrow. "Breath Jim, you're going to be okay. I've got you, and I always will."

And strangely, as he sat curled up in his shower, it was like his body remembered what it was like to be held in someone's arms. He could feel them as he let his body take his mind over. There arm's wrapped around him, rubbing his back soothingly as the voice continued to talk, now seeming to whisper in his ear. It told him that there was nothing to fear, and it reminded him over and over again that he was alright, he just had to remember to breathe, to be calm, to not let his anxiety get the better of him.

This wasn't the first attack he'd had, they would sometimes come out of nowhere or when his mind and body weren't working together, that would also induce his panicked state. Seven times in three days this had happened and as Jim's breathing began to return to a normal state he once again wondered if he'd struggled with things like this _before_ or whether it was just part of the amnesia. Tobias had told him it was perfectly normal, that things would 'get better' but from where he was sitting he could barely see the light at the end of the tunnel.

Finally his chest opened back up and the darkness left his vision, he breathed deeply and calmly, the voice in his ear fading as fast as it had arrived. He didn't move, deciding to sit for a while. He wasn't stupid, he knew having hallucinations was not a good sign, nobody was meant to hear voices. Jim couldn't stop himself from wondering though if the voice was something his own psyche had made up, a kind of defence mechanism against the frequent attacks or whether the male voice was something from his previous life. Playing the deep timbre of the comforting words back in his own head he tried to put a face to it but came up blank, he'd expected that but he'd still tried. He'd been trying a lot of things recently, and he found that generally, he failed.

Deciding that he'd had enough of his shower, Jim stood back up and rinsed the remaining shampoo from his hair and quickly washed his body thinking about what he had to do today. There was his writing lesson and his one on one with Tobias, he knew there was a group therapy session after lunch but as he wrapped his white towel around his waist he decided to forgo it today, it wasn't compulsory after all.

After drying off Jim stood in front of his open wardrobe, the clothes were his but he hadn't bought them himself, they'd been provided for him on his arrival to the House. What kind of clothes had he worn _before_? He knew that eventually he'd have to stop asking himself questions like this because of course he'd never be able to provide an answer, he hoped that the more he got used to living here and the idea that he would never remember, the less it would happen until he finally stopped.

Deciding on jeans and the red plaid shirt that had quickly become his favourite, he dressed before heading downstairs to the kitchen, his stomach giving a hungry grumble. Cereal, he found, was the easiest thing to make so that's what he ate while staring longingly at the cup of coffee Bridget Meddler, another resident, was drinking. Bridget was an older lady, probably about fifty, with red hair streaked with grey, Jim knew nothing about her. He also hadn't thought she'd noticed from her seat opposite him at the dining table that he kept glancing at her coffee but looking up from her paper Bridget smiled serenely, "I can make you a cup if you like?" she offered her accent dictating that she was from somewhere in the deep south.

"Would you…would you mind, actually showing me how to make it…please?" he asked hesitantly, a spoonful of cereal half way up to his mouth.

"Sure thing darlin'," she smiled at him, folding her newspaper up and placing it down on the table top. "Come on," she beckoned, standing up and moving over to the hot drink facilities, her long skirts swaying as she walked. Jim followed, his breakfast forgotten about as he watched, concentrating severely, her make the nice smelling drink. It was such a simple process he was slightly ashamed for forgetting how to make it but Bridget didn't seem to mind teaching him, asking him gently how he took the drink.

"I don't know," he admitted, his cheeks flushing slightly.

Bridget extended her hand and squeezed his forearm consolingly, "Don't worry about it darli', everyone struggles at first. We'll just start you out with it black and you can add milk and sugar until you find how you like it. I've always found that trial and error is the best way to go about these things."

"I'll keep that in mind," he smiled gratefully at her before they made their way back to the table, Bridget bring a carton of milk and the sugar bowl with her in the process.

Experimentally, Jim took a sip of the black beverage almost choking as he forced himself to swallow at how vilely bitter the taste was. "That," he coughed, "was disgusting."

"I recommend adding milk first then go about adding the sugar," Bridget advised before picking her paper back up again and continuing reading from where she left off. Jim did as she said, adding milk to what he thought was an acceptable colour and taking another sip of the hot drink. It wasn't as bad as the last time but it was still too bitter for him. After a few experiments with the sweeting granules he decided that he liked his coffee with milk and two sugars. Jim drank his now costumed beverage with reverence, enjoying the taste and the hot feeling of it sliding down his throat.

When the cup was empty he placed it down on the table top and stared at the back of Bridget's paper, trying to think of something to say. Maybe he could ask about her, about how she came to be here or how long she'd been staying at the house but he couldn't get the words out of his mouth so he continued to sit there in silence was she perused the morning paper, scared that the questions might be classed as too personal. After a while he picked his spoon back up and proceeded to push the now soggy cereal around his bowl, not eating it but wanting something to do with his hands.

His mind quickly slipped back to the events of earlier that morning, it wasn't a normal thing to happen that was obvious, but should he tell someone? He wasn't sure. Tobias would probably want to know about it but he didn't know if he really wanted to tell him, to be poked and prodded some more because of a mysterious male voice that he heard on the brink of collapse. Surely the voice had been a good thing, really, he'd been alone and if he had passed out then no one would have come looking for him until he was late for his writing lesson, which was still hours away. Once again he wondered who the voice belonged to and would the disembodiment return the next time he was in the midst of a panic attack or was this just a onetime thing.

With shocking certainty he realized that he wanted the voice to return, he'd felt so comforted by it, calming him down quickly and efficiently compared to what happened during his other attacks. Once, one of the other residents, a man named Dmitri, had gone so far as to tell him to, 'get a grip' and to 'stop drawing attention to himself' when one developed in the TV room on his first night. Jim had proceeded to run from the room to be sick in the kitchen sink, his trembling hands gripping the counter for support, one of the nurses then came in and found him, escorting him to his room, staying with him till it had passed.

Jim's attack in the bathroom had lasted maybe ten minutes tops, he'd never had one that short before. One he had the day before had lasted three hours and it had been complete hell, for a whole hundred and eighty minutes he had felt like he was going to die, his chest tight, unable to breathe evenly, shaking and constantly retching without actually being sick. He wouldn't wish it on anyone. Unlike the one this morning though, someone had always been there for him, to help him through it, even if they weren't always effective with their attempts, but this morning he'd had no one and it had resulted in a hallucination.

He dropped his spoon and pushed the bowl away, he was going round in circles and he knew it but he had so little information about anything he had started to fixate on the things he did know. Jim looked up and noticed Bridget watching him over the top of her paper, "I'm going into town later if you care to join me?" she offered, "you'll catch cabin fever if you stay in this place for too long."

"I-I don't know…" Jim trailed off, feeling fear starting to churn in his stomach. He bit his lip, praying that he could stay in control of his anxiety but as he lifted a hand to run it through his hair he noticed that he was visibly shaking.

"Maybe some other time then," she smiled before folding her paper up and standing.

"Thank you though," Jim added hastily, "for asking and for showing me how to make coffee."

"Anytime darlin', anytime," Bridget nodded at him and left the room, leaving Jim alone with his increasingly dangerous thoughts.

* * *

"What have you been doing today?" Tobias asked Jim, his rich, melodious voice rumbling from the man's broad chest. Jim sat opposite him on one of the plush armchairs in the wood panelled room, not looking into the man's eyes, rather staring at the wall to the left of his head.

"Nothing, really," he answered, chewing his lower lip, "I had my writing lesson, I skipped group and now I'm here."

"Why did you not attend your group therapy session, James?"

The question hung in the air between them before Jim decided to answer, stealing himself, he took a deep breath before admitting, "I had another panic attack this morning and then I felt like I was going to have one at breakfast when Bridget asked me to accompany her into town. I didn't want to take the risk."

"Have you had any more attacks today?"

"Not yet."

"Why do you say it like that?"

"It's inevitable isn't it?" Jim countered, "They aren't just going to go away so something will set me off, something will tip me over the edge and I'll be crippled by this, this fear I seem to hold in me." He gestured to his own chest, waiting for Tobias' reaction.

"You cannot let your fear rule your life. I recommend that next time Ms. Meddler offers to take you into Salinas you go with her, no matter how you feel. If these attacks are going to become part of everyday life for you then you are going to have to learn to work through them, to take control of your body back from the fear that dictates it so much. I will teach you some breathing exercises that should help when the time comes, now what do you think caused the attack this morning?" Tobias asked, and then he added softly, "Tell me about it."

"I was in the shower and I started singing but I couldn't remember the song or even how I knew the lyrics and it freaked me out," he answered truthfully, his voice stuttering slightly.

"Can you remember the song that you were singing, it might relate back to your old life somehow."

"No." This was also the truth.

"What did you do to take control of your breathing?"

"I don't know," he lied smoothly, Tobias opened his mouth to continue in this line of questioning but Jim beat him to it, not wanting his hallucination to come to light. "Did I…I mean, do you know if I used to suffer from any kind of anxiety disorder, you know…_before?_" Jim asked, waiting with bated breath.

"Not that I am aware of but you are a completely different person to who you were three weeks ago, James, you have to stop trying to find out who you were and start trying to discover who you are. I would also advise you not to go trying to find yourself on the internet again," Tobias commented, lifting some of the weight from Jim's shoulder's that he wasn't going to press him details about that morning.

"You know about that, huh? And, erm, if you wouldn't mind, could you call me Jim please, James makes me feel uncomfortable." It wasn't a lie, he thought his full name was too formal, especially in a place where he was basically laying his soul bare to another human being.

"Of course I know, Jim," Tobias smiled at his patient, "one of the nurses informed me that it led to one of your more violent attacks."

"Yeah that wasn't a fun one," he remarked as if talking about a particularly bad movie.

"Eye contact too, Jim, you need to work on eye contact otherwise you risk alienating people and it will be harder for you to connect with them, to make friends."

Jim wasn't sure how to answer, so he didn't, he just sat there and continued to look anywhere but Tobias' eyes. Eventually he dropped his gaze to his hands, staring at the white knuckles of his clenched fists. He willed himself to relax, this was a safe environment, but he found it difficult, the silence in the room being slightly oppressing. "Is there anything you can give me?" he asked hopefully, looking up and into Tobias' eyes for the first time since he entered the room.

"First I must establish which one of the many anxiety disorder's you are suffering from, this will take time and patience. It is even possible that you may be afflicted by more than one. I think in the mean time you need to find something to occupy yourself with, so as to not wander down the dangerous paths in your mind, you don't want to push the boundaries of it too much. It could become very stressful, increasing the chances of having another attack."

"I'll think of something," Jim commented, rubbing his hand over his chin and feeling the stubble scratch his skin. He'd either have to ask someone to show how to shave or start telling people he was growing a beard.

"Now before I teach you the breathing exercises I mentioned," Tobias leaned forward and caught Jim's eye, holding his gaze as he asked, "is there anything else you wish to tell me, anything at all?"

Jim's heart raced. Should he tell Tobias? If there was a time, this was it but hearing voices, never mind being comforted by them, it was not normal. What would happen to him, what kind of medication would they put him on? Would they purposefully induce attacks to see if he hallucinated again, because surely that was what it was, a hallucination, he brain acting out under the strain the attacks put on it.

He baulked at the idea of being literally forced to go through an anxiety attack so he looked Tobias in the eye, a small genuine looking smile on his face and said, "Nothing. Nothing at all."

* * *

**A/N: Hello again my friends! A huge thank you has to go out to everyone who has reviewed, favourited, followed and read the last chapter :D The response has been amazing, I seriously wasn't expecting it, you guys just make me so unbelievably happy! Tumblr is 'losingmyangelgrace' yada yada yada. So yeah, please let me know what you thought because I was back and forth with this chapter and unsure about keeping certain parts but I left them in despite my worries about it so feedback would be amazing. Until next Tuesday, much love! xx**


	3. Love' and 'Idiocy'

**Chapter 3 – 'Love' and 'Idiocy'**

Spock stood in front of the Starfleet council, made up of high ranking men and women from Starfleet itself and esteemed members of the Academy staff. All of them, apart from Admiral Peters, were watching Spock closely. He did not enjoy the scrutiny. After what seemed like an age the Admiral looked up from the papers he'd been perusing, his large forehead creased into a frown.

"It says here that you wish to resign from Starfleet, but you have given no reason. Explain your decision to me Mr Spock," the Admiral demanded.

Spock had expected this, so he took a deep breath and elucidated his already pre-prepared answer, "I have decided that I would prefer to follow in my father's footsteps and work as an ambassador between Earth and New Vulcan. There are so few of our people left that I must take part in the re-building of our once great nation, further more I do believe that-"

"Do not lie Mr Spock, it doesn't suit you," the Admiral drawled.

"I assure you that Vulcan's cannot lie," Spock said impatiently, annoyance starting to tick away at him.

"That may be so but they know how to bend the truth to their own adjenda, for instance, is it true that despite knowing you have been ordered not to look for James Kirk, you have spent the past week doing just that. Oh yes," the Admiral nodded, "we know."

"You are having me monitored," Spock stated, feeling the annoyance turn into anger.

"It's for Mr Kirk's wellbeing…and for yours Mr Spock."

"Surely I should be the one deciding what is and isn't good for me," Spock snarled through gritted teeth.

"But not for Mr Kirk," Admiral Peters countered, the fact that he refused to refer to Jim as 'Captain' only fuelling Spock's anger. "Imagine," he continued, "If you turned up out of the blue, acting like you know him, do you not think that it might be detrimental to Kirk's already fragile state of mind. His psychologist has already reported that he is suffering from anxiety attacks of varying severity, caused most likely from the onset of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, not that Mr Kirk can ever know that of course…How would you feel if you sought him out, only to have him reject your friendship, would you be able to take that Mr Spock?"

Spock did not say anything. The anger that surged through him was so great he feared that if he did not hold his tongue he would merely make the situation worse for himself. When the Admiral realized this he continued speaking, "The rest of Kirk's crew have been issued with the warning that if they try to seek him out, they will face an instant dismissal from Starfleet. I now issue this warning to you as I am denying your request to resign. You will stay on Earth and take up your old teaching post at the Academy but remember that you will be under close scrutiny at all times until further notice."

"Can I ask why I have not been allowed to leave Starfleet?" Spock managed to hiss.

"Well I'm surprised you don't know. Earlier this week Doctor McCoy…left us. I have already lost two good officers since the incident with Kahn, I will not lose another," the Admiral said in a final kind of way. "Report to Principal Matthews at oh-eight-hundred hours tomorrow morning to be briefed on your class schedule, is that clear?"

"Yes...sir," he said begrudgingly.

"You may leave Mr Spock."

So he did.

Storming from the room and slamming the door behind him. The session with the council had left him enraged and confused. He knew he needed to find out why the doctor had left his post but for the moment he was so angry he could barely function, deciding instead to walk the streets, hoping that it would clear his head in some way.

Ever since Jim had been taken, everything had turned to shambles. He had tried and failed to locate his Captain but the information had been buried so deep into Starfleet's archives he couldn't find a trace of him, no matter how many fire walls the Vulcan had blasted his way through. Despite his knowledge of Starfleet's systems and regulation he just wasn't a good enough hacker to find out the information he so desperately needed while also hiding his presence within the archives.

As he walked the anguish he felt over losing Kirk rose to the same levels he'd felt when his mother was killed before his very eyes. For the first time since that terrible day on Vulcan he truly wished with his entire half human, half Vulcan heart that his mother was still alive. She would have known what to do in this situation; she would be able to help him. Allow him to work through his emotions by explaining all that he was feeling, the anguish, the rage, the grief, to such a point where he would be stable enough to go about finding Jim in a way that he would be successful in his actions.

With thoughts of his mother still circling around in his head, Spock made the conscious choice to visit his father, who'd came to Earth when he found out about what had happened with Kahn and the proceedings on the Enterprise. As he headed towards San Francisco's Vulcan Embassy, Spock knew he would not get the physical affection and comfort he craved so much but his father was wise and would at least help him choose the right path to undertake.

The Embassy was a large building, made completely of stone transported from Vulcan. Looking up at the architecture made Spock wistful of his home world, but he'd chosen Earth so he didn't spend too long wandering down that dangerous vein of thought. Instead he chose to enter the building, the atrium empty, most of the Vulcan who did live here currently either in their own chambers or attending to business. He quickly climbed the stairs to the correct floor and entered his father's quarters without knocking.

"Father!" he called out as he walked through into the living area, he received no answer. "Father?" he repeated.

On a search, Spock found that the rooms were empty so he made himself at home while he waited, making himself a hot drink and searching the vast bookcase for something to read. He picked an old Earth tale about an extremely ill-mannered but genius detective before sitting down on one of the plush sofa's to begin the story. As he tried to make his way through the first chapter though Spock found he couldn't concentrate on the words, re-reading the same lines over and over again unable to actually process them. With a sigh of frustration he replaced the book where he found it, left his now empty cup in the sink and contented himself to just sit and try to keep his thoughts from the more dangerous topics circling around in his mind.

* * *

He was dreaming. He knew this for sure because he was lying in bed with Jim, back on the Enterprise and of course that wasn't going to happen ever again. That didn't mean he didn't enjoy the scene his imagination was offering up to him. Jim lying on his side facing Spock, propping his head up in his hand while supporting the weight on his elbow. "Spock," Jim murmured, as he reached out with his other hand to cup the Vulcan's cheek. Spock nuzzled into the other man's palm, relishing the simple gesture. "My Spock," Jim repeated.

They stayed like this for a long time, Jim touching Spock's face, his hair, his chest, while the Vulcan just stared at his lost lover, drinking in his features, trying to memorize the face he already knew so well but never wanted to forget. "It'll be alright Spock," Jim said in a low voice, "I have faith in you, you will find me." Words that Spock hadn't even known he'd needed to hear. When Jim opened his mouth to speak again his voice changed, shifting as he murmured, "Spock, you need to wake up."

"I don't want to wake up," he whined.

"Wake up, Spock," Jim continued in the voice that wasn't his, "Wake up."

And Spock did, surfacing from the dream in a grey fog, his consciousness slowly bringing him back to the present until he opened his eyes and saw his father staring down at him. "Spock," he said again. The voice, the voice that Jim's had become had been his as he was trying to waken his sleeping son.

Spock sat up, rubbing his eyes as he realized that while he'd been sitting he'd slipped into the slumber and sunk to lie horizontally on the sofa. "Hello Father," he greeted, his voice scratchy as his brain still lingered on Jim's face, so loving and caring as it had been while it watched him.

"I'm delighted to see you Spock, but what brings such an impromptu visit?" His father asked, sitting down next to him, his face as impassive as ever.

"I have just returned from a meeting with the Starfleet council," he paused, gaging his father's expression before continuing, "They declined my wish to resign."

His father sat up a little straighter, if it was possible, but otherwise nothing showed on his face at Spock's reveal. "This is about the boy isn't it?" the old Vulcan wondered steadily, "The one you love?"

"Yes, Father," Spock sighed in relief that he accepted or at least understood the reasoning behind his recent actions.

"A strange yet powerful emotion, love," his father observed, "Have you tried to find the man that is the object of your desires since he was sent away?"

"Yes but I have been unsuccessful," Spock shifted uncomfortably, not liking to admit his failures, especially to his father.

The old Vulcan sat inertly. Spock knew he was thinking how best to answer, as was the Vulcan way, nothing was done without thought. "Have you considered asking for help from your crew mates?" he asked after a while.

"I do not want to put them under fire of losing their positions in Starfleet." Spock explained. "We have all been ordered not to look for Jim, and if we try but are caught we face instant dismissal. I believe that is enough to stop most of them although I do know Doctor McCoy quit earlier this week, I have yet to find out why."

"Then I suggest you make that a top priority, it may help you find out where Captain Kirk is," he father suggested.

"You are not mad that I wanted to leave my place in Starfleet?" Spock frowned.

"Son, a life that is without those we love is no life at all and as someone who has first-hand experience of knowing what it is to love a human…then no, I am not angry nor am I disappointed."

At his father's words Spock felt some of the tension he'd been holding inside of himself relax ever so slightly. "Thank you, father," he sighed before standing up, "I'm going to go and speak with Doctor McCoy."

"I believe that to be a wise decision," his father agreed, also standing and walking his son to the door. "Know that I am always here if you seek council."

They stood either side of the threshold as they saluted each other and said the customary 'Live long and prosper'. It was not far to the apartment Doctor McCoy shared with Mr Scott and as Spock beat out the route he couldn't help but feel a fresh surge of hope pumping through his veins.

* * *

It had just gotten dark when he reached Mr Scott's and Doctor McCoy's apartment building and he stood awkwardly by the door waiting for one of the two men to answer his comm. After a further minute it happened, Scotty's face appearing in the little screen above all of the apartment comm buttons. "Mr Spock!" he exclaimed, "I wasn't expecting to see you-"

"I can leave if you so wish," Spock answered, feeling the new hope fade slightly at the set back, "I merely want to speak with Doctor McCoy."

"If you'd let me finish," the Scotsman grumbled, "you would have heard me say that you can come on up. Leonard's just had a bit of an epiphany about how we can find Jim, so it's good that you're here really-"

"You've been searching for him too?" he asked. He was shocked at himself, it should have occurred to him earlier, of course Scotty and McCoy would be looking for Jim too, they were just as loyal to him as he was.

"Would you stop interrupting me!" Scotty huffed, "Come on up, we'll fill you in when you get here." The line disconnected but the door buzzed, indicating that it had been unlocked. Yanking it open, Spock took the stairs two at a time, reaching floor three and running along the hallway to apartment B. He knocked frantically until it was opened by Doctor McCoy, "Okay, okay," he grumbled, "No need to break the door down."

Spock looked him over as he passed over the threshold. The man appeared to have not shaven in a while and there were dark circles under his eyes, his clothes were slightly dirty with an accompanying smell of coffee and alcohol hanging around him. "What happened to you?" Spock asked before he could stop himself, his tongue so free nowadays.

"Hello to you to Spock," McCoy drawled, "It's nice to see you. Me? I'm fine, thanks for asking-"

"Oh, stop it!" Scotty called over. Spock looked in the direction of the voice and saw that the Scotsman was sitting behind a state of the art computer, typing away at it frantically. "Give the guy a break," he continued, "he just lost the love of his life, we've only lost our best friend, so he one ups us." McCoy walked away, heading towards the kitchen, grumbling under his breath, Spock only catching the words 'love' and 'idiocy'.

Spock watched him go, hearing the kettle being turned on and decided he'd question the doctor later. As he crossed the room to Mr Scott, he said, "You've been searching for Jim? How is it possible that you are still a member of Starfleet?"

"Let's just say I have a few programmes on my hard drive that make me undetectable," he answered, tapping the bridge of his nose before returning his hand to the keyboard and continuing to tap away at it mercilessly. "Leonard had an epiphany," Scotty started to explain, his fingers never stopping as he typed in base codes and tried passwords. Spock could see what he was doing, the Scotsman was breaking through firewalls to access private files, but he wasn't searching Starfleet's database. "If Jim's been transferred to a half-way house," he continued, "we're more likely to be able to find him by searching though medical databases than Starfleets, and the fact that his condition isn't a very common one will make him even easier to find."

"I see…that is very clever," Spock admitted, wishing that he'd thought of it.

"No need to thank me," the doctor's voice said from behind him, he'd remerged from the kitchen with a coffee cup in hand.

The two men stood in silence as they watched the Scotsman work. Spock could feel the questions he had for Doctor McCoy burning the back of his throat but now was not the time, not when find Jim was such an imminent possibility. Mr Scott passed easily into files Spock could never dream of hacking, the fact that Scotty was so good at this didn't faze him, the man created an equation to beam people aboard ships at warp speed after all, this was probably like a light game of chess to him.

Everyone in the room started to feel the tension of what was happening. Scotty's fingers moved faster than ever as he continued to move deeper into the country's medical archives. "Almost there, almost there," he started to mutter intermitted. McCoy was biting his nails, and Spock's breathing became shallower and shallower as more minutes passed.

Something started flashing at the side of the screen and Scotty swore loudly and profusely before muttering, "No, that's impossible."

Spock stared at the flashing green box and baulked when he saw the words 'Incoming comm: Starfleet' clearly lit up.

"You two! In the kitchen now!" Scotty ordered, his fingers moving so fast they were practically a blur as he continued to pass through the many files, but Spock could not look away.

Scotty turned, looking at him for a fraction of a second before turning back to the screen, "Fucking move!" he shouted at the Vulcan.

"Spock," Doctor McCoy said in a low voice, gripping his arm, tugging at it lightly. Spock moved, he felt sluggish though, as if time was moving too slowly as the two men crossed the room and entered the kitchen, leaving the door open so they could hear the commotions in the living area but still stay out of sight.

Spock leaned against the wall, his fists clenched as his mind moved laboriously. They'd come this far to be shot down at the final hurdle. Waves of nausea rolled through him like tidal waves. He slid down the wall as he fought the urge to vomit and held his hands out in front of him, opening his white-knuckled fists out and turning his palms upwards to see the crescent moon indents his nails had left in his skin.

"Hello Admiral Peters," Scotty's voice cut through Spock's thoughts. He lifted his head and stared wide-eyed at McCoy, the fear Spock was feeling showing on the doctor's face.

"_Mr Scott,"_ they head the Admiral say, his voice slightly tinny because of the computer's speakers. "_We have evidence showing that you have disobeyed orders and have tried to locate James T. Kirk."_

Spock swallowed drily. He knew what was coming even as Scotty tried to talk his way out of the inevitable. They'd been so close.

"_Hereby, under Regulation Code 347A,"_ Peters continued, Spock's heart now beating so loudly he was surprised the Admiral couldn't hear it despite the distance between himself and the computer, "_your affiliation with the United Federation of Planets, Starfleet, has been terminated. Good day Mr Scott."_

There was silence followed by the sound of a chair being scraped across the floor and the light pad of Scotty's feet as he walked to the kitchen. Neither Spock nor McCoy moved at first, choosing simply to look at the man they both still considered the chief engineer as he entered the room. Scotty was smiling and Spock, for the life of him, couldn't work out why.

McCoy voiced the thoughts that were passing through Spock's brain, "You've just lost your job, man! Why the heck are you grinning?"

"To be honest, with the Enterprise gone I didn't really want to _be_ part of Starfleet any longer," his said slyly, his grin widening as he looked down at Spock, "especially since we've got a bit of a road trip to go on…"

Spock stood up, his eyes flickering over Scotty's face, not quite sure if he was hearing him correctly.

"What are you talking about?!" the doctor demanded, stepping closer to the Scotsman.

But Scotty didn't look away from the Vulcan as he said, quite clearly, "I did it. I know where Jim is, Spock, I found him."

**A/N: Hello my dears :D Thank you so so sooo much for the follows, favourites and the amazing reviews you've been leaving :D It makes me so happy and it really spurs me on so know that they really are very much appreciated. So yeah...this chapter...haha, thoughts? Much love! xx**


	4. The Smell Of Dust After Rain

**Chapter 4 – The Smell of Dust after Rain**

All of Drake's House residents were sitting in a circle in the large room that was designated for 'group', all on hard backed chairs that Jim was sure they'd purposefully made them as uncomfortable as possible so there was no chance of anyone nodding off. Jim didn't normally attend, simply because he didn't want to talk about his panic attacks, they were humiliating to him and everyone else hearing about the inner workings of them just didn't appeal to him. The only person he'd confided in was Bridget, who'd he'd became quite dependant on ever since she'd shown him how to make coffee. If he needed help with anything, she was the one who he'd ask. Currently, Bridget was sitting next to him, watching Lauren, the only other female resident, intently as she talked about her new job waitressing in Joe's Diner in the town.

He moved his hand to cover his lips, allowing him to yawn without seeming rude as he thought over how he'd actually managed to find himself here. That morning he'd come back from his run around the grounds, something that Tobias had encouraged him to do and he actually found that he enjoyed, had showered and gone for his writing lesson. He had made good progress, his tutor congratulating him after he'd managed to scrawl his own name for the first time since his lessons had started. It had created a strange feeling inside of him, pride maybe? He wasn't exactly sure, but it felt good, and he saw it as a stepping stone towards being able to create an identity for himself.

He'd gone to find Bridget after that, to tell her about his new ability. The Georgian lady had challenged him, smiling at him wryly, telling him to prove it. So he had, all the while she encouraged him as Jim gripped the pen to tight and dragged it over the paper slowly, methodically. Bridget had clapped when he'd finished, dropping the pen and rubbing the cramp from his hand. Anyone seeing the scene from an outsider's point of view would probably think that she was being condescending but Jim was glad for her praise, he'd practically basked in it because he couldn't do much but he _could_ write his own name, even if his hand writing was like a child's. Bridget had then proceeded to drag him along to the group session with the promise that she's play something for him on the old up-right piano for him later in the day.

So there he sat, half-listening to everyone's daily struggles. He knew he should have been paying attention, that he might have been able to glean some information from the other resident's about the problems he was going to face in future but he just couldn't get himself to focus. Instead his mind drifted across the vast planes of white nothingness that filled most of his head, searching, trying to find snippets of information, memories from _before._ As always he came up blank.

Jim turned his head to see Bridget glaring at him, knowing full well that he was off in a world of his own. He shrugged minutely and she raised her eyebrows at him, tilting her chin downwards as she looked at him over the top of her glasses. He fought a smile.

"James," the nurse, Caroline, who was leading the session, interrupted their silent conversation, drawing his attention to her.

"Call me Jim, please," he amended, people were continuing to call him James but it made him uncomfortable. There was something intimate about his full name, a feeling that it drew up from inside of him, he wasn't sure what it was and he didn't know why its use made him feel so uneasy but it was like a violation. That when people used it they were encroaching on something private, something secret, and he didn't like it.

"Okay, Jim," Caroline smiled slightly patronizingly, like she was trying to placate a small child. "Is there anything you'd like to share with the group today?"

"Nope," he smiled, popping the p.

"Nothing at all," she pushed, her lips still stretched in that annoying way.

"I can't think of anything that springs to mind," he retorted.

She looked down at the clipboard sitting on her lap, "It says here that you've been having some interesting dreams, would you like to tell us about them?"

Not particularly, he thought to himself. He glanced at Bridget and she nodded at him, telling him that it was okay, that sharing was a good idea. So he took a deep breathe, pushing back the fear that was trying to fight it's way to surface and began, "In my dreams I'm in space. Just drifting. I pass by supernovas and dwarf stars. I don't see just black, I see all of these beautiful things, it's not just darkness out there, there's so much colour…"

"Go on," the nurse gestured.

"And I," he bit the inside of his cheek, he was going to sound so stupid but she wouldn't stop asking until he said it, "I don't feel alone. Even though I'm so far away, in deep, deep space I feel like I'm home, like I'm meant to be up there. Sometimes I'll feel like there are people up there with me. I never see anyone, it's just a sense, you know? I imagine that it's what it's like be with family but I've never been into space before," he shrugged his shoulders, "so I think it's just my imagination running wild"

Bridget smiled at him, happy at what he'd told everyone. "No," Caroline said sharply, frowning at him, her expression completely at odds with the older woman sitting next to him, "You've never been into space before, always remember that, James."

"It's Jim," he muttered, unable to keep the petulance out of his tone.

Caroline's smile broadened for a second before she turned to the rest of the residents, "Well I think today has been a good session, thank you all for sharing," everyone clapped each other, "I'll see you at the same time tomorrow." She then got up and headed off towards the locked staffroom, pulling the key out of her pocket as she did so. It made him wonder what was in there if the room constantly had to be kept under lock and key.

"I really don't like her," Jim said in an undertone while scratching his beard, turning to Bridget who was still seated next to him.

She nodded in agreement, "She's not the most likable person, I admit, but you get used to her."

"She's just so…so…" he trailed off, he sensed the word he meant to say but what the word was completely eluded him, he tried to explain, "It's like, she thinks we should be grateful to her for being here for some reason, despite the fact that she chose to work here in the first place."

"Patronizing," Bridget said for him and Jim nodded in agreement, "yes, she does radiate that sense, doesn't she?" The older woman stood up, rearranging her scarf as she did so. "Are you finally gonna to come into town with me today?"

Despite Tobias telling him to, Jim had still been rejecting Bridget's requests to take him into Salinas and show him around. The idea still gripped him with panic, panic that he was trying so desperately to avoid, except for when he was by himself. When he was alone he welcomed it, to hear the comfort in the disembodied voice, to feel the content that it created. He knew that this wasn't healthy but it made him feel good, better about himself, helped him cope.

"I will just drag you out there myself if you don't hurry up and make a decision," Bridget intoned, her words cutting through his head as he tried to remember the exact cadences of the incorporeal voice.

"You won't stop asking will you? No matter how many times I decline," Jim grinned up at her.

"Certainly not," she stated, placing her hands on her hips.

Jim sighed wearily, "I supposed I'd better grab my coat then." He stood up and stretched before looking to see Bridget's astonished expression. "What?"

"I didn't think you'd give in that easily," she admitted, frowning slightly.

"I have to face my fears eventually," he murmured, looking away, "Tobias says that I can't let them rule my life." It was true, what he was saying, he didn't want to have a panic attack but if he did and managed to find someplace to be alone, even while they were in town, he'd be able to hear _him._

"Rightly so," Bridget said softly, stepping closer to place her small hand on his forearm, squeezing gently. She stepped back and her serious expression was replaced by a dazzling smile, "Let's get on shall we?"

"We shall," he grinned, for more than the reason of finally getting out of this house.

* * *

Jim stood and looked around in awe. So many shelves packed and packed with thousands of books, and he could read any of them. "It's beautiful," he whispered, swallowing the lump in his throat.

"Told ya' you'd like it," Bridget smirked, looking at him out of the corner of her eye, he was staring, slightly opened mouthed, his blue eyes wide as he took in the scene. "Especially after you practically devoured all of the books I own."

He didn't know why he'd become so obsessed with it, but he'd literally read anything. Tobias said that it was psyche wanting to learn, to find things out, to grow but Jim just thought that it was because he enjoyed it. He liked being whisked off into another universe where he wasn't 'Jim Kirk, amnesia sufferer' but the character he was reading about, whether he was a detective or a dragon slayer, he didn't care, he relished being someone else for a while. Even if it was just a few hours a night, sitting one his bed with a dictionary propped up against his leg for when he came across words he didn't know the meaning of.

"Take in a deep breath," Bridget instructed, "Smell them."

So he did, drawing in the largest breath he possibly could through his nose, his chest expanding as he inhaled. What a smell, it wasn't an 'in-your-face' kind of scent, but it was there, it smelt sweet, but with a hint of mustiness, signifying the old and new volumes that must have filled the shelves. It was glorious, it smelt like what he imagined sunlight smelt of, or dust after rain…

"Petrichor," he said out loud.

"What?" Bridget asked, frowning.

"I don't know," he felt his own brows crease as fear started to sweep through him. He'd been doing so well today, but now his mind had betrayed him and given him information that he didn't know he possessed. He took deep calming breathes, there was nowhere he could hide here so he concentrated on the breathing exercises Tobias had taught him, inhaling for a count of five, holding it for two, exhaling for five. Jim repeated the process over and over, pinching the bridge of his nose, aware that Bridget had walked off muttering "petrichor" under her breath.

Moving slowly, still trying to control his breathing and push the anxiety back, he walked over to one of the many tables in between the shelves and sat himself down at one. Falling heavily into the chair as he closed his eyes and counted, battling the panic all the while. A loud bang in front of him made him jump, his eyes flying open to see that Bridget had slammed a large textbook onto the table and was leafing through it, her old frame bent over as she rested her weight on her elbows.

"Aha!" she exclaimed, smiling at him, he returned it weakly. "Petrichor," she recited, "the distinctive smell that accompanies the first rains after a very long dry spell." Bridget looked up and grinned, "Otherwise known as the smell of dust after rain…how does a lowly mechanic suddenly exclaim a word like that while he's in the middle of a library?"

"Wish I could tell you," he said wearily, "I was thinking how this place smells like that," he gestured to the book, "and then I just said it. Never heard the word in my life as far as I know," he laughed bitterly.

"I know it can be frustrating," Bridget said in a soft tone, sitting down and reaching out, taking his hand in hers, he clung to it like a life line, "but it gets easier."

"Does it ever come back?" he asked brokenly, showing just how much apprehension he felt towards the subject.

"Some of it, not much, but some" she admitted, her tone sombre, "occasionally little bits will just force themselves to the front of your mind when you're not even trying. It will happen, eventually, you just have to wait it out. They're never what you'll expect them to be, sometimes it's a bad memory, sometimes it's a good one, you never know what you're going to get."

"What do you remember?"

"My memories just kinda cut off after the age of twenty, following that I only have a few abstract ones, holding my son for the first time, dancing with some people on New Year's Eve…my husband dying."

"I'm so sorry," Jim whispered.

"Don't be," Bridget reassured him, her mouth quirking up into a half smile, "I could feel the sorrow in the recollection but I couldn't remember what it was like to love the man, so I see the memory from an outsider's point of view. Like when an acquaintance dies, you know you should be sad but you don't know them enough to actually feel it, not properly anyway."

"But that's it? That's all you remember, those three things?"

"Pretty much," she shrugged, "occasionally I'll have a dream that include people that I know used to be part of my life, but they're just dreams. I don't know whether they're based on real memories or not so I don't get too caught up on them."

Jim nodded, thinking about his own bizarre dreams. Could they have been real, he didn't think so, why would a mechanic be up in space? But still, the sense of family, surely that wasn't something his psyche could just create for him when he didn't even know what having a family was any more, much less the emotions it instilled into a person.

"Come on," Bridget patted the top of his hand with her free one, "let's go find you some books."

An hour later they emerged back into the weak spring sunlight, Jim squinting as he carried the four large books tucked under his right arm, his new library card stuffed into the front pocket of his jeans. He'd borrowed three fiction paperbacks that had taken his fancy and a large textbook about space. If he was dreaming about the vast expanse above him he might as well learn about the topic.

"You wanna go get a coffee at the diner?" Bridget asked as she walked in step beside him.

"I, er, I don't have any money," Jim flushed, looking down at the side walk.

"Don't be silly," the southern woman scolded.

"No, I couldn't…" he trailed off as he looked over at her and took in the stern expression she was wearing.

"I don't spend my night's knitting those baby jumpers for nothing, you know?" she declared before her expression cracked and turned into a much softer one, "Come on, it'll be my treat."

"Can we get pie?" he asked, feeling his cheeks flush slightly.

"We can get pie," Bridget affirmed, nodding her head approvingly at his choice of dessert.

They continued down the street in a comfortable silence. It wasn't very far to Joe's Diner and soon they were being seated in a booth by the window and the maître d assumed that Jim was Bridget's son, much to his embarrassment and her delight. "I'm sorry about that," he mumbled as he slid into the booth, placing the books onto the seat next to him.

"Don't worry about it," she smiled, waving a hand in an 'it's nothing' type gesture. "A thoughtful, pretty boy like you, I'd happy to call you my son."

Jim beamed at the compliment, he didn't have much in his new life but he was glad that he had Bridget. His thoughts darkened though as he really contemplated what she'd said, "Damian hasn't contacted you in a while," he stated, talking about Bridget's actual son. He'd never met the man but from what he'd heard of him, Jim had decided that he wouldn't like him if they ever did meet.

"Don't fret over it," she told him, despite her reassuring tone the lines around her face still deepened as she continued to speak, "I have one memory of him, _one_, it's no wonder he barely sees me as his mother. It must be painful for him, he watched me come off the horse that resulted in me having Retro, he was the first person I saw, imagine what that must have been like, a person you love finally waking up in the hospital, you think that everything's going to be okay, but then they don't even know who they are never mind who you are. It must have been horrible."

"Still doesn't excuse him," Jim said, irritation clearly audible in his tone, "At least he has a mom, he should make the effort."

"Darlin' I appreciate what you're tryin' to say but it's fine, honestly, I can't miss something I don't remember," she said in final way, indicating that this topic of conversation was over.

The subject brought one of his few memories to mind though, his very first to be truthful, waking up in the hospital to his dark haired doctor. The man had looked beside himself with joy, his eyes were glazing over as he'd said, "Jim, you're awake! How ya' feeling?" Jim remembered his reply, clearly remembered the feeling of not knowing, it was the strongest he'd ever felt it and hopefully he'd never feel it that intensely again as he'd stared up at the dark-haired man and asked quite plainly, "Who am I?" as his mind had come up blank with that basic but vital piece of information. He thought he'd remember the man's face till his dying day, the look of sheer helplessness, of pain, before the man had schooled his features and left, excusing himself politely. Ten minutes later another doctor had entered his room, and he never saw the man again the rest of his short stay at the hospital. There had to be something more to that interaction, but what?

As he pondered his thoughts were again interrupted, something that was frequently happening, this time by Lauren, who appeared to be working there section of the diner. "Hey Jim, hey Bridget," she beamed, greeting both of them but only looking at Jim.

"Hi," he said, smiling awkwardly. It's not like they didn't get along, she just always seemed to be looking at him when they were in a room together back at Drake House. If he went into the kitchen she'd suddenly be there trying to help him or if he sat down to watch some TV she'd appear next to him on the sofa, pressing her leg against his. It confused him slightly, in the short time they'd known each other he'd never let on that he was attracted to her, because he wasn't, but she still seemed to persist.

"What can I get you?" she asked, still not looking away. Jim turned to Bridget who answered curtly, "Two cups of coffee, black, but I want a little jug on the side and some sugar packets as well as two slices of pie, peach if you have it."

Lauren turned to Bridget, her smile becoming forced as she uttered, "Coming right up," before walking quickly away, but not before she could let her hand brush against Jim's shoulder.

As soon as she was out of ear-shot Bridget turned to him, a scowl twisting her features, "I swear to God, Jim, if so much as touch that hussy…"

"I won't, don't worry," he laughed at her quick fury, lifting his hands in a 'surrender' gesture. Her scowl intensified and he proceeded to appease her, "I don't even find her attractive, promise."

"Good, as long as I've known her, and she's been at Drake's longer than me, she's had a string of men calling for her. I mean, fair enough if you're that way inclined but if you have a condition like ours, I can't see how it would be good for a person. We need stability, that's why we're here after all, Drake's offers us a stable environment in which we can integrate ourselves back into the community. What she's doing, I just don't think it is right as all."

Throughout Bridget's little lecture Jim had just watched the older lady, nodding his head, he loved watching and hearing her speak. She was so opinionated yet so open minded it never ceased to captivate him and there was just something in her voice that he found comfort in despite his inability to explain why. He couldn't remember his mother but he hoped that she was something like Bridget, a strong lady with a lot of gusto who wasn't afraid to tell a person how she felt. No matter what was going to happen to him in the future, he always saw Bridget there, helping him and guiding him through whatever he had to face. Tobias had said that he was substituting her in for the lack of parental figure in his life and the psychiatrist was right, Jim was using Bridget as a rock, the same way a person might depend on their mother, but he didn't care and, thankfully, he didn't think she did either despite the short time that they'd known each other and how quickly the dependency had come about.

"Boy, you really need to get someone to show you how to shave," she declared as she watched him carefully across the table.

"I know," Jim sighed, running his fingers through the course hair.

"I'll ask Robert to show you once we get back, he won't mind, he owes me anyway," she smiled.

"Thanks," Jim grinned, not at all put out by her offer.

Lauren returned carrying their coffee and pie. She reeled the order off as she placed the items on the table before winking at Jim, running her hand over his chest this time and sauntering off, swinging her hips to and fro. "Hussy," Bridget murmured again, this time under her breath.

Jim bit back a laugh at the venom in her voice as he added milk and sugar to his coffee. He took a sip, enjoying the sweet bitter flavour of it before he picked his fork up and tried the pie. He chewed thoughtfully, categorizing the flavour and storing it away so he'd recognise the taste of peach from then on.

"You like it?" Bridget asked, placing a section of her own pie delicately in her mouth.

Jim nodded and swallowed before saying, "I like how sweet it is, and the interesting texture."

"Thought you might," she conceded, washing her piece down with some of her own coffee, "What do you want me to play for you later?"

Jim knew that Bridget's repertoire was vast, she'd been playing the piano since she was a child so even after her loss of memory she could still remember how to play and it was enchanting to watch when she did. Her hands graced over the keys with such refinement and poise that it made Jim envious of her control. "I like the ancient songs you play," he told her, unable to remember the names of the composers she'd told him.

"The Debussy or the Chopin?" she asked.

"Both," he grinned, placing another piece of pie in his mouth.

"Chew with your mouth closed!" She scolded, only making his lips stretch even wider as he chewed, his teeth grinding in large circles so he could show her the contents of his mouth more easily. "Infant," she exclaimed, rolling her eyes at him.

The slight was like a slap in the face causing him to suck in a breath, the pie hitting the back of his throat making him cough, a horrible hacking sound as he tried to displace the pastry. Jim hit himself in the chest as he continued to try and move the lump in his gullet. Bridget watched him, panic in her eyes as she forced his cup into his hands and made him take a gulp, to try and help the pastry down. Finally he swallowed and felt it move painfully down his oesophagus as he felt the nausea starting to roll from his stomach.

There was something itching at the back of his mind, something telling him that he had to remember but he couldn't quite scratch at what as his breathing rate escalated and he felt the anxiety causing adrenalin to pump through his system, sending him into flight mode. Jim looked around wildly, spotting the men's bathroom and praying that it was empty he stood up, pushing the table towards Bridget in his haste. "Two minutes," he gasped as he bolted towards the door of the restroom.

He had to be alone, he needed to be alone to hear _him_ and as he pushed through the door and glanced around he noted, mercifully, that he was. The door swung shut behind him as he stumbled over to one of the sinks, leaning on the porcelain heavily as he shut his eyes, feeling the adrenalin invade every cell of his body as he waited, trying to stop himself from fidgeting.

His breathing now completely out of his control his knees started to go lax as he gulped at the air without taking any appropriate amount into his lungs. The nausea reached a peak, roiling his stomach as he tilted forward to retch, the contents of his stomach surging back up to erupt wetly from his mouth, spattering into the sink below him. Then as he stood there, shivering, still unable to respire properly and tasting nothing but his own stomach acid, "Jim, you have to breathe."

_He'd_ arrived.

"You have to do as I say Jim, and breathe, just like Tobias taught you." But he didn't, not at first anyway, he just kept listening. Feeling the phantom limbs that wrapped around his waist from behind. Jim was tempted to lean back, but knew there would only be empty space behind him so he refrained, instead revelling in the security the voice brought with it.

Time moved strangely, he didn't know how long had passed since he'd first entered the bathroom, minutes? Hours? He didn't care, there was just him and the voice. The sounds of the diner had faded away leaving only his harsh, ragged breathing and _his_ level cadences.

A knock at the door broke through his illusion, followed by Bridget's worried voice, "You okay in there darlin'?" she called.

And he was gone, the feel of arms around his waist suddenly absent and the presence _he_ created dispersed like he'd never been there at all. Which, apart from in one of the many unreachable corners of Jim's mind, was true. "I'm fine," Jim rasped, feeling the sudden lack of contact like it had been psychical and reverting back to the breathing exercises Tobias had taught him, "I'll be out in a second."

As he regained control over his breathing he felt flickers of annoyance, he hadn't wanted the delusion to end, he'd wanted to stay where he was, wrapped up in the comfort his own mind had to offer towards his debilitating anxiety. He forced it away though, he couldn't be mad at Bridget, it wasn't her fault, she didn't know what she was interrupting, she was only concerned for him. A stab of guilt went through him before he quickly pushed that aside too, not wanting to think about how Bridget would feel if she knew what he purposefully put himself through, or why he did it. No, she could never find out about it.

He opened his eyes then and peered at his reflection in the mirror. His skin had turned a slight sallow colour and his forehead was sweaty but his eyes, they danced with exhilaration over hearing _him, _feeling _him_. After washing his vomit from the porcelain and rinsing his mouth out with cold water he left the bathroom, smiling to himself as he did so, thinking about the next time he might hear _his_ voice.

**A/N: Hi guys! :D you are all awesome! Thank you to everyone who has read, reviewed, favourited and followed this story so far! Honestly it's mind blowing to be! Over 80 follows on only THREE CHAPTERS! You're all amazing! **

**So that was chapter four...let me know what you think :) much love! xx**


	5. That's What Friends Are For

**Chapter 5 – That's What Friends Are For**

Walking quickly, Spock passed through the chilly evening San Francisco air and into Starfleet Academy's main library, set in the middle of the campus grounds. With confidence he continued inside, between rows of multiple shelves until he reached the section he was looking for, the aisle on Surveillance and Decoding. As he waited he stared at the books, the irony not lost on him.

He heard the soft tread in the muffled confines of the building of someone approaching. Pulling the nearest book out he opened it at a random page and tilted his head downwards towards it, making it look like he was actually reading.

"You know," Nyota said gently from behind, coming to a stop, "I didn't know that you could read upside down."

Spock really looked at the book then, and sure enough the text on the double spread of pages that he was 'reading' was the wrong way round. He put the book back and turned to the woman, "Evening Nyota."

"Hello Spock," she smiled sadly up at him.

He carefully took in her appearance, her hair and uniform were as immaculate as ever but her eyes told a different story. They looked bone tired, indicating the lack of sleep he'd seen in all of the other members of the crew, either they weren't resting or when they did they were plagues with nightmares, he's assumed both were likely. Even as she smiled the corners of her mouth were turned down, and he didn't like that. Nyota had always been his friend, while she was in the academy he had to curb some of her more emotional feelings towards him, which had put a slight strain on their relationship but they had gotten past that. She'd helped him through many low points in his life, the death of his mother and the loss of his planet, the period of time when he was trying to discern his feelings for Jim. Now here she was, obviously suffering from the same agonies as he was and he wasn't sure how to make her feel better, even though he desperately wanted.

Earth customs would imply that wrapping his arms around her and holding her to his chest would be the best thing in the situation but he kept his arms behind his back, afraid that the emotional transfer may be too much for her. However she reached out and cupped the side of his face, gasping as soon as her skin made contact with his as she felt just how intense he was burning from the inside out. Nyota did not pull back though, and for that he was grateful as he felt some of his emotions bleeding from him into her. He closed his eyes, letting himself feel truly vulnerable as he leaned into her soft palm. He could feel her emotions brushing against his barriers, there were equal amounts of pain and loss but she also directed reassurance and tenderness towards him, letting him know that he was not alone, and it helped ease the weight off his shoulders that had never disappeared since that disastrous occurrence with the warp core.

After a while he opened his eyes, his lips perking into a small smile, "Thank you, Nyota," he said softly, indicating that she could remove her hand.

When she did he felt the loss of contact as the out-let his emotions were seeping down was cut off. "Do you feel better?" she asked, her voice shaking and her eyes glazed over on the verge of tears.

"I do," he nodded, "but you do not. You have taken some of the burden of my emotions, even though they are not yours to carry."

"That's what friends are for Spock, to share your pain and help you through it," she said weakly, delicately wiping her eyes. He merely nodded to her, allowing her to gain control before asking, "Why meet here?"

"Well if they're watching you, and with everything that happened to Scotty," she laughed bitterly, "the chances are they're watching the rest of us. It's very easy to get lost in a library, while also being impossible to bug one properly, especially one this size." She gestured around herself before continuing, "This aisle is one of thirteen that is not covered by the buildings security cameras as well as being one of the most unused, adding to its privacy."

"You are by far one of the most surreptitious human's I know, Nyota," Spock told her.

"I'll take that as a compliment," she laughed again, but this time not the bitter one from before but neither was it her usual care-free titter, it still contained traces of the unhappiness she was feeling. They'd all aged significantly because of recent events, and it was showing. Nyota sighed then, the corners of her mouth turning even futher down as she said, "The council have made Sulu a Captain. He refused the post but you know how they are, once they've got something into their collectively idiotic head's. Fucking bureaucracy."

Spock was shocked by her crass use of language, but also warmed by the passion she put behind it. Starfleet was corrupt, but just how corrupt they were only beginning to find out, it still didn't diminish just how alarming the situation was though. "What about the Admiralty, surely they have something to say about what Peters is enforcing."

"He's head of the council and the Admiralty," she told him.

"But that goes against regulation they're meant to act as two separate entities coming together on occasion to make final decisions. How has this happened?" he demanded.

"They're scared Spock," Nyota answered, the fight suddenly leaving her as she looked to the floor, "After what happened to the city, with Marcus, they want to cover their own backs. None of them wanted to lead the council so when Peters volunteered they all fell right into his back pocket. I was present at a meeting today, they've had me monitoring Klingon transmissions and I was delivering a report, and they didn't question him on anything." She looked up again then, staring into Spock's eyes as she mumbled, "I wanted to scream at them, but why would they listen to me, a common Lieutenant."

He didn't like the way that she was talking about herself, he saw now that the recent events had left Nyota doubt riddled, second guessing herself without the confidence Jim had instilled in all of them. "You should not speak of yourself in that way," he admonished. "They seem to have forgotten that you were one of the key members all those years ago, when we were facing the Narada. People may see Jim as the hero of that dark day but you were the one who told him about the broadcasts. Without you we'd all be dead, floating in space reduced to mere dust."

"You have such a sunny outlook on things, Spock, but nevertheless," she half smiled up at him, "Thank you."

He nodded his head to her an idea striking him, "Would you like to join me at Doctor McCoy's and Mister Scott's resident's for dinner, there is some need for celebration after all."

"I don't understand?" she frowned.

Spock let the relief and happiness show on his face, even thinking about it now bringing back the memories from the kitchen, of Mister Scott telling him his lover's whereabouts as liberation and joy had slowly spread through him. A smile slowly stretched his lips, "You mentioned earlier, however briefly, Montgomery's termination from Starfleet. It was not in vain, Nyota, we have found Jim's location."

A gasp escaped Nyota as she raised a hand to cover her mouth, her eyes wide and shining with unshed tears. "That's-" she stopped for a moment, to regain control over her voice and emotions, "That's wonderful Spock! But…if you know where he is, why aren't you already there?"

His mood darkened then, a frown furrowing his normally stoic face, "He is at a half-way house on the outskirts of Salinas, Kansas. Under normal circumstances I would have left in a heartbeat but Starfleet are monitoring me too closely. If they so much as heard a whisper that we knew where Jim can be found, they'd move him without a moment's hesitation. I just don't understand how they can cover something like that up?" Spock wondered, thinking again back to their clash with Nero. When they'd come back to Earth there pictures had been on the cover of every magazine, every newspaper, Jim had practically become the poster boy for Starfleet.

"They've black listed him," she answered dejectedly. "Every trace of him has been wiped from archives across the world. If you search for him on the internet nothing comes up, they've deleted every remnant of him."

"How do you know this?"

"They made me help them do it," she whimpered as her eyes glazed over again. Nyota looked so broken to him now, so utterly distraught that an uncontrolled rage quickly took over him. Fists clenched at his sides he closed his eyes and breathed heavily through his nose, his nostrils flaring. Not only had Starfleet taken his lover away from him but they were hurting his friends, his family, in inconceivable ways designed to break them, to force them into subordination. It sickened him. Sending Jim away, decommissioning the Enterprise, it was just the tip of the ice berg.

He stayed like that for a while, processing the rage, allowing him to push it back so he wouldn't lose control and lash out on someone who didn't deserve to feel the brunt of his emotions. Eventually he reopened his eyes, his breathing once again even, to look down and see Nyota staring back up at him. "I've never seen you look more human," she commented.

"I do not know how to process that under the current circumstances," he replied.

"Jim being taken has put a lot of strain you, I realize that, but I thought without him you'd retreat back in on yourself. Instead I've seen you show more emotions in the last ten minutes then I have the whole time I've known you," she explained, a slight frown puckering her forehead.

He inclined his head to her, "Thank you for being honest...Shall we leave? I know they can't see us but they'll become suspicious and send someone to check on what we're doing eventually." Spock knew that he was being paranoid but he thought he had a right to be after Peters had told him that he was under observation.

"Yes, that's probably a good idea," Nyota agreed, "I'll meet you on the corner of Third in ten minutes."

Then she departed, her boots emitting soft noises as they hit the carpet and Spock was left in a dry type of silence that can only be found in a library. He leaned up against the large bookcase, feeling the shelves digging into him from behind but he didn't care, Nyota had given him so much information in such a short time. He felt defeated. Finding Jim was only a small triumph compared to what they were actually facing, it wasn't a mountain that they had to climb but a cliff face, a sheer drop beneath them with still a long way to ascend.

Yes, he knew where Jim was but he still didn't know when he'd get to see him and even when he did... That path of thought was best left alone for now, he decided as he pushed off of the bookcase and retraced his steps through the library, there were dragons down that path that he was not yet ready to face.

It was dark when he left the building, crossing the campus through the now misty night air. He looked up at the sky but couldn't see any stars through the fog and the clouds, Spock could just make out the moon, shining brightly behind her cover. He chuckled under his breath, remembering a comparison that he'd made what seemed like decades ago now, when he and Jim were first realizing their feelings for one another. Jim, he was the Earth, and Spock was the moon, forever in orbit around the man he loved. He'd told Jim about it once, explaining that he was a mere satellite, revolving around the object of his admiration. 'Yes Spock,' Jim had answered, taking Spock's hand and squeezing gently, 'but what is the Earth without her moon? She'd be barren, with no life in her to speak of.'

What Spock wouldn't give to go back to then, knowing what he knew now, back before Khan, so he could stop Admiral Marcus and Jim would still be by his side instead of thousands of miles away. The thought pained him and his step faltered slightly as he left the academy behind him. He missed Jim. It was like losing a limb. Jim was an extension of him and now that he wasn't by Spock's side it was like he was missing a leg, or an arm, he felt so crippled by his loss. Without Jim, he was nothing, practically an empty shell only capable of anger and base emotions that ruled him in a way he didn't think possible for a man with Vulcan blood running through his veins. That was it though wasn't it? Jim made him better, made him a better man, a better human despite the Vulcan in him, but without Jim he couldn't control this part of himself leaving him lost and broken.

He needed Jim like he needed air to breathe and as he walked the remaining distance between the academy and Third Avenue he had to stop himself from once again wandering down the path of what was actually going to happen when he saw Jim again. There was going to be no love filled reunion, he knew that much, and it didn't stop short of terrifying him.

"Stop thinking about that," Nyota said, stepping away from the wall she'd been leaning against to walk over to him. He looked around, sure enough he was at the intersection onto Fourth, where he was going to meet her. He hadn't even realized he was there, his feet carrying him through the city on autopilot.

"Thinking about what?" Spock asked, coming out of his daze.

"What it's going to be like when you see Jim again," she said softly. He didn't know how she knew but it was Nyota and he'd realized a long time ago not to question her and her innate ability to read people.

They continued to walk through the city in a comfortable silence, brought round by years of confiding in each other. Spock looked around him as they made their way back to McCoy's and Scott's apartment, which was now currently his temporary home, unable to go back to apartment that he'd shared with Jim whenever they were grounded. He just couldn't make himself do it, to walk through the rooms and feel Jim's presence around him, to see his little touches all over the place, the burn mark on the table from when he'd placed a hot pan on the wood, the lamp in their bedroom that they both detested but Jim refused to throw out because of the sentimental value, to be able to smell him in the air...Spock knew that it would have been too much. Even in the immediate time after Jim had been moved he'd not visited the apartment, instead choosing to stay in one of the cities many motels, using a computer that he'd picked up second hand to try and evade Starfleet.

Scaffolding covered many of the city's buildings, the recovery from being hit by the USS Vengeance already well under way. It would be a long time before San Francisco was fully restored though because of the extent of the devastation, thousands killed, all because of one man and his lust for war.

It started to rain, the weather seeming to mirror Spock's black mood, he knew such an occurrence was coincidental but it didn't stop him from making the comparison. Together, he and Nyota picked up their pace until they reached the apartment building, Spock using his newly cut key to let them inside and into the dry. Despite the short time in the rain, it had been the heavy kind that seeps through your clothes and chills your bones and as they ascended the stairs they both left a trail of water droplets behind them, dripping from their heavy uniforms.

When they finally made it inside of the warm apartment they were given a site to behold, the doctor was sitting on the couch watching TV while Montgomery and Pavel were lying on the floor surrounded by the insides of the Scotsman's computer. Upon seeing Nyota and Spock, Scotty jumped to his feet, "Ny-Nyota," he stammered.

"Hello Scotty," she smiled, unzipping her regulation jacket and hanging it over the radiator by the door. Spock watched with some amusement as the Scotsman's eyes bugged when his head while he took in the smooth dark skin of her arms and chest, the tight black vest she was wearing showing off her slim figure.

"Is there anything I can get you?" he asked, gulping as he watched her unpin her wet hair, letting it fall in loose waves around her, hanging down her back and framing her face.

"A towel maybe…and a dry pair of trousers?" she replied, running her hands over her wet skirt.

"Right…yes, of course, follow me," he stammered before leading her through the apartment and into his room. Spock watched them go with his eye brows raised.

"At least someone's getting some," McCoy said sardonically, his eye's never straying from the screen in front of him.

"I didn't realize they vere togezer," Pavel piped up, looking up from the piece of internal hard drive he was dissecting.

"Oh yes," Spock answered, taking off his own jacket and draping it next to Nyota's, "How long has it been Doctor McCoy? A month? Two?" He moved across the room to behind the sofa, bending down to rummage through the small bag that contained his possessions. Mister Scott had kindly volunteered to collect them for him after Spock explained that he couldn't bring himself to re-enter his own apartment. He pulled out a dry pair of Jim's jeans and a plain white t-shirt to wear. He knew that he shouldn't be wearing Jim's clothing, it caused him pain to wear them, made him remember just how much his lover had enjoying seeing Spock in his own garments, but with the pain came comfort at the memory of the love they had shared.

"Ever since we got back to Earth," McCoy grunted.

Spock left them then, heading for the bathroom so he could change in private. As he walked passed Scotty's closed bedroom door he could hear soft voices through the wood. It was very old fashioned, the apartment, without automatic doors and lights that you had to operate by hand, but Spock found that he liked it, despite the time it had taken him to get used to the manual processes of locking the doors and turning the shower on.

Now he stood in front of the mirror, looking into his very human eyes. Jim had done that to him, brought that side of him out of the cage where he'd locked it up long ago. Spock didn't know whether to be grateful or angry in that moment. His lover had done this to him but now he was gone, ripped away from him, unknowing of what he'd left behind.

When Spock returned to the main room, now dry and warm in Jim's clothes he found Nyota seated in one of the armchairs, wearing a pair of Scott's sweatpants and a towel upon her head, drying her hair. Her legs were tucked up underneath her as she watched Montgomery and Pavel scrutinize a tiny black microchip. Pavel was holding up in front of them using a pair of tweezers while Scotty looked at it through a magnifying glass. "This little bugger," he explained to room as Spock sat down on the sofa next to Leonard, "is the thing that meant Peters was able to track my progress through the archives. It was attached to my main hard drive."

"How did it get there though?" Nyota asked.

"I have no idea," Scotty answer truthfully, shrugging his shoulders, "It certainly wasn't their when I installed the thing, which makes me think someone's been in here while we were up in the black. The question is, what are we going to do with this thing?"

"Destroy the fucker," McCoy answered shortly.

"Ve can't," Pavel answered him, "If it stops transmitting readings then they'll know ve're onto them."

"Would attaching it onto a PADD work?" Spock suggested.

"Aye," Scotty nodded, "I don't see why we cannae. All I'll have to do would be to reprogram one so that it thinks it's a computer and not a hand held. It should keep 'em fooled. Shall we Mister Chekov?" The Scotsman asked the Russian, a slight glint in his eye at the thought of deceiving Starfleet.

Pavel thought about it for a few moments. "It is a relatively simple process," he answered, nodding his head to show his ascent towards the idea. The two men took to their task then, with a zeal that could only come from fooling an organization that they all used to have so much faith in.

A mere thirty five minutes later Montgomery held the PADD up triumphantly, a smile on his face. "Let's see the bastards try and track me now!" he exclaimed before he threw the machine onto the floor and said, "Can we order in some food? I'm starving!"

There was a murmur of agreement before the inevitable argument over what type of cuisine to actually order began. Finally they settled on Chinese food because that meant that Spock would be able to order something from the off-world section of the menu. After making the order Scotty commed Sulu, telling him to get over to the apartment as quickly as possible and to pick the food and some beer up on the way before he then reassembled his computer.

Hikaru arrived soon after, greeting everyone as he came through the door, carrying bags containing the requested contents, proceeding into the kitchen to place everything on the bench. What ensued was a flurry of movement involving clean plates being found and the food being dished out, Scotty and Leonard getting into an argument over the spring rolls in the process. Soon after though they were all seated contently back in the living room, Pavel being demoted to sitting on the floor since there wasn't enough seat's for everybody and he was the youngest.

Three helpings later everyone was quite satisfied with a full belly and a bottle of beer in hand. Leonard's eyes kept drooping sleepily and Nyota was resting her head on Scotty's shoulder, however, despite relaxed atmosphere in the room Spock couldn't help but think that Jim's lack of presence was hanging over the group, an almost visible weight pressing down on them all. "Nyota tells me," Spock said, addressing Hikaru, "That they've made you a Captain."

The helmsman's face twisted in disgust, "Unfortunately yes, and they wouldn't take no for an answer. Once the build of the USS Athena has been completed, I'll be sitting in the chair for her first jaunt up into the black."

"How long will that take?" Nyota asked, lifting her head, a frown creasing her brow.

"Six months, a year maximum," he shrugged, "I'm grounded until then thank God, providing the Klingon's don't decide to attack us, but it'll give me time to appeal my new position. There are much better candidates out there for Captaincy than me."

Spock stayed silent as the others continued to discuss the new ship. Hikaru would make an excellent Captain and they all knew it but the circumstances of him procuring his own ship were wrong. Starfleet were only doing it to get under their skin, to undermine all of Jim's achievement's by destroying the Enterprise instead of rebuilding her and making one his close friends and trusted crew members the captain of the fleets new flagship, despite knowing that the man wouldn't want to take the post in the first place. He hoped that the Klingon war Marcus so desperately wanted never came about.

Leonard got up then, disappearing into his bedroom and returning with a bottle of unopened vintage bourbon clutched in his hand. "All this ship talk," he explained, sitting back down and cracking the top, "It's made me nostalgic and since we're never gonna see her again…To the Enterprise and all the good and bad times we had in her." He took a large gulp before handing it to Hikaru who was sitting across from him on the opposite arm chair.

"To punching her into warp," he toasted, taking a drink.

Pavel took the bottle from him then and thought for a moment before he answered, a small smile on his face, "To the time Jim had Scotty turn ze gravity off for one afternoon." He too took a drink, his face scrunching as he did so before handing the bottle over to Scotsman.

"To her sheer beauty," Scotty said, his voice wavering slightly, "I'm gonna miss ye my lady." He drank and passed the bottle to Nyota.

"Lazy days on the Bridge," she saluted, taking a hearty gulp and entwining her finger's with Montgomery's before she handed the bottle to Spock.

He stared at it for a moment, his mind recalling his memories of the ship, of Jim. "To the family she gave me," he finally murmured, bringing the bottle to his lips and letting the liquid burn its way down his throat.

Soon after Pavel and Hikaru left and Leonard, Montgomery and Nyota excused themselves for the night, disappearing into their respective rooms, Nyota following tiredly behind the Scotsman. Doors were closed and Spock was alone.

With a sigh he cleaned the bottles up, knowing that if he left them lying around he would be unable to sleep. He never used to sleep, that was another of the many things Jim brought out of him. The meditative sate Vulcan's used to rest had always sufficed until one night, lying in bed with Jim breathing evenly beside him, instead of the lucid visions he was used too his mind had shut down in a way it never had before and he had dreamt for the first time in his life. It had become a habit after that and one that he could not shake, even if he sometimes woke up just a tired, or even more so, than he had before he'd fallen into slumber.

Once the apartment was clean and tidy he pulled out his bedding from the cabinet next to the TV and made up his bed for the night on the sofa he'd just been sitting on. After changing into a pair of Jim's old and frayed sweatpants he flicked off the lights and lay down for the night. Shifting until he was comfortable, with one arm under his pillow and the other wrapped around his bare waist in a mocking attempt to try and trick his body into thinking that he was being that he held, he fantasied of Jim and the times when it was he who was holding Spock, not his own arm, as they fell asleep together.

* * *

An unaccountable amount of time later Spock was woken up by the sound of someone walking through the apartment. Still slightly groggy from his dreamless sleep, he listened. A cupboard door was opened and closed, the tap was ran and turned off and then…nothing. Whoever it was, be it any of the apartment's other three current residents, they didn't make their way back to their room. He was certain they hadn't, he would have heard them.

Spock counted to one hundred and eighty in his head, three minutes, and still the unknown person didn't pass behind the sofa to go back to bed. Curious, the Vulcan got up, throwing the covers off of him quickly, his skin breaking out in goose pimples at the sudden change in temperature. As quietly as he could he sat up and walked to the open kitchen door. What he saw astonished him.

With his hands gripping the bench like a vice for support, Leonard was leaning forward slightly. His head was bowed over a full glass of water, his shoulders shaking while he cried silently. Now this close to him, Spock could hear his tear's hitting the counter top. Such a strange site to behold, the usually opinionated doctor, known for his cantankerous behaviour reduced to such a show of emotions that Spock knew the man considered to be classed as weak.

"Doctor McCoy?" Spock asked wearily, unsure of the etiquette of the situation. Jim would know what to do, he always did, but Spock had the feeling that Jim's absence was the reason behind the doctor's mute weeping.

"How many times," he answered without turning, his voice shaking and cracking with every other word, "do I have to tell you to call me Leonard."

"Forgive me," Spock mumbled. "Can I inquire into what is wrong? Maybe I could be of some help to you."

"Everything's wrong, Spock, and there ain't jack shit any of us can do about it."

"What happened, Leonard?" Spock questioned, trying to find out the information that had been plaguing him for days but had not been able to procure yet, "Why did Starfleet let you go so willingly?"

The man laughed bitterly then, raising a hand to scrub his face by still not turning to face Spock. "That day, when Jim woke up," he started to explain, "I left the room once I'd ascertained that he was okay apart from the obvious memory loss, I needed to find the appropriate medical staff. I'm a surgeon after all, I don't deal with the mental side of the practise." He turned then and what Spock saw in his eyes chilled him, his eyes showed that of a burning man, a man guilt ridden because of events that were out of his control. "They hyposprayed me, knocked me right out. I woke up in a biobed later on with an armed guard who immediately transported me the council chamber and had me testify in front of Peters that Jim was fit and healthy apart from his onset of the amnesia."

Leonard took a step forward; his body jaunting towards Spock in a way that made the Vulcan take a step back. "They told me," he continued, "that if I didn't stand up there and say my piece that Jim would be moved. So I did, and they sent him away anyway. I wanted to quit right then but I'm a medical man, a healer, I had people to take care of but then I got the task of notifying you. When I opened that body bag up, the one that had Jim in it, that site, I thought that broke me, I have nightmares about that but you, the look on your face when I told you what had happened, the way you refused to believe me. That was just as bad, maybe even worse because that made me realize, they hadn't just hurt me but sending him way, they'd hurt all of us. So after you left, I marched myself to Peters office and I quit. Oh, he didn't want to let me go at first, not until I started threatening to destroy the remaining samples of Khan's blood, the ones they wanted to culture, study and use. They can't use it if it's taken straight from one of them in status see, it doesn't have the same effect and he wasn't going to risk waking any of them freaks back up. He took me very seriously after that, even let me walk right out of there with the contents of my retirement fund written out on a nice little check…Does that answer your question?"

Slightly stunned, it took a moment before Spock managed nod his head, saying, "Yes, yes it does."

He was still trying to process everything Leonard had told him when the man picked up his glass of water and made for the exit, stopping in front of Spock. "Jim may not remember who he is, what he's accomplished," the man said, his voice low, "but what I don't like the most about this whole mess is that he's out there alone. We're not just his crew, we're his family and the council are brainless since they actually thought that we wouldn't try and succeed in finding him. Because of his father, Jim didn't believe in no-win situations, well my Daddy taught me that you never turn your back on your family, no matter what, and it's something I'm gonna stick by."

With that Leonard slipped around Spock and padded quietly back to his room, his door shutting with a small click. Having nothing else to do, Spock made his way back to bed, pulling the comforter over him as he continued to think about what the doctor had told him. He was right of course, the council were laughably inane if they thought they would leave the issue alone and proceed on with a normal Starfleet regulated life, going up into theatre to explore or to commence in battle, whatever was called of them.

The fact Leonard had been so blatantly lied to as well, they made him think that he was helping to protect his friend when really they had needed his testimony to be allowed to send Jim away. The iceberg was getting bigger and bigger, with just a tiny amount showing above the surface in the sea of lies Starfleet was reporting but at least Spock knew who he could trust and that was important. With these few people surrounding and helping him, he knew that it was only a matter of time before he had Jim back with him, time that couldn't come soon enough.

* * *

**A/N: Thank you all of you beautiful people for all of the reads, followers, favourites and reviews! You guy continue to amaze me and I'm forever grateful! So...what did you think? Let me know your thoughts because it'll make me happy, haha, see you next tuesday my dears :D Much love! xx**


	6. A Memory

**Chapter 6 – A Memory**

The light was shining through the windows of Tobias' office right over Jim's chair, making him squint as he looked at the doctor, the large man's posture mimicking his own. For the first time that week, Jim actually had something to discuss with him as well. After the preliminaries had been dealt with, the standard questions that Tobias always asked, things like how he'd been dealing with his panic attacks, informing Jim that he was learning to control them well and they were unlikely to put him on any medication, not unless they began to worsen to the extent they'd been when he'd first arrived at Drake's. Once he'd congratulated Jim on learning how to shave they reached the part of the session that he'd been waiting for.

"So," Tobias asked, "Is there anything that you'd like to tell me?"

As usual the time he spent with the disembodied voice came to the forefront of Jim's mind. He pushed the memories back, it was not the time to dwell, he'd save that for later when he was alone in his room, then he could close his eyes and imagine a faceless man to go with the cadences. Instead he thought of the event that had occurred the previous night when he'd been alone, tinkering at the piano, practising the scales that Bridget had taught him.

Stealing himself, Jim managed to stutter out, "Lauren…she, erm…she kissed me…"

He could see it in his mind's eye, she'd came and sat down next to him on the piano stool, there had been a few minutes of awkward conversation where she was always touching him and before he knew it she'd pressed her lips to his. It had not been a bad sensation but he did not feel the things he'd expected to, having read about kissing in one of the many books he'd borrowed from the town library. He'd even kissed back, hesitantly at first as he got used to Lauren's movements. He had imagined that kissing a woman would feel different than this though, deciding that the whole experience was just very _wet_, rather than being sensual and heated like he thought it would be. It could have been because of the lack of feelings he felt towards Lauren, in books, the people who kissed and felt these things had always loved one another, or at least found each other attractive, neither of the emotions applied to how he felt about her.

After a while her hands had started to grope at his groin. He wasn't stupid, he knew what she expected to happen and wasn't surprised in the least when she pulled back and was offended by his lack of arousal. Lauren had shouted at him, asking what was wrong with him in a way that Jim knew she wasn't wondering so that she could offer comfort but to offend. She'd stormed off then, leaving him to his own detrimental thoughts, maybe there was something wrong with him. Maybe impotency was something that he had suffered from before coming to Drake's, it wasn't a nice thought but it was possible.

The idea that he couldn't make love to a woman or a man had then sent him spiralling off into a welcome panic attack as he hunched over the piano keys. _He'd_ came then, assuring Jim of his worth, telling him everything that he'd wanted to hear and more.

"Did anything else happen?" Tobias asked, his face as stoic as ever.

"Yes, she, Lauren that is…I think she wanted to have sex with me but I couldn't…I'm still having problems…" Jim trailed off, not wanting to actually name of his affliction out loud.

"I see," the psychiatrist replied, scribbling a few things down on the clipboard in front of him before lifting his head to lock eyes with Jim. "How did the experience make you feel?"

Jim thought about it for a moment, "I guess that…I didn't feel anything. Not really. I don't think I felt what you're expected to feel while kissing a woman…obviously."

Tobias allowed him a small but rare smile, "There's nothing in your medical history suggesting that you suffered from erectile dysfunction before your accident. The strain that the incident put on you, one your mind, this kind of affliction is not uncommon. You just have to give it time."

"How much time though?" he muttered bitterly, looking away from Tobias to stare at the wood panelled door.

"That is a much harder question to answer," the man said calmly, "I believe that patience will be the key here. Your body may be healed, but your mind, who knows how long it will take before it allows you to commit such base acts that define many a race. You are clearly not attracted to Lauren in any way and that might be part of the reason you could not achieve an erection despite the stimulation. Like I said, just give it time. The passing of the days is a fine healer."

"Is that a quote?" Jim asked bemusedly, "If it's not, it should be."

"It is not," Tobias flashed his smile again, "but thank you all the same."

They continued to just chat after that, Jim enjoying talking about everyday things, the new books he'd been reading and how much pleasure he was taking from Bridget teaching him basic skills on the piano. The activities helped fill his days and honed his ability to concentrate on the tasks given to him. He reported, with a grin, that he was now able to write a full paragraph without his hand cramping and he hadn't broken a pen by exerting too much pressure on it in days. His ability to perform tasks that were classed as normal was improving at a steady rate and he did feel proud of himself, everything was an uphill battle but he was getting there, he hadn't even burned his toast that morning.

When he finally left the room there wasn't much left to the day, his talks with Tobias always being scheduled for the late afternoon. He headed straight for the kitchen as it was his night to cook. Bridget was already there, ready to assist and supervise as he learned basic culinary skills. Jim enjoyed cooking, liked the methodology behind it but also its complete flexibility. Simple dishes could be turned into extravagant masterpieces if you wanted them to and it was something he was keen to explore once he had the necessary knowledge to try and create such things.

Bridget sat knitting while Jim went through the motions, talking to him through what he was doing as he was doing it. Once he'd placed the dish of Macaroni and Cheese in the oven to brown the top off, he joined her at the kitchen table. "Hmm," she mused, looking at him intently, "You definitely suit being clean shaven over when you had that _thing_ sitting on your face."

"I prefer it too," he laughed, and then decided to broach something to her that he'd been thinking about for the past few days, "I know I haven't been here that long…but do you think they'd clear me to go out and find a job?"

"You can always ask," she shrugged, "just depends what you want to go for I suppose."

"Well I know there's a position open at the library, I saw it advertised on the notice board the last time I went for new books, inventory and stuff like that," he explained.

When Jim had seen the job offer he'd wanted to see if they'd take him right away but then his more rational sense had spoken to him, telling him about all of the paperwork that would have to be cleared first. After trudging back to Drake's, new books under his arm, he'd decided to talk to Tobias about it that night, but he hadn't. What if he wasn't as ready as he thought he was? Even though he knew the more he put it off the more likely the position would be filled.

"Have you talked to Tobias about it?"

"No," he admitted. It was up to his shrink to sign off on it but Jim also knew that Tobias wouldn't turn around and say 'you're ready to go out and work' but that he'd let Jim come to the decision himself and then conclude whether or not he was fit to work in such a public environment. Jim worried that his panic attacks would be the cause behind Tobias not allowing him to work just yet, although he was starting to experience them less and less, much to his own dismay. The fewer attacks that occurred the less likely he would be able to hear _him, _and as Jim learned how to cope with everyday life it left him longing for the infrequent times when something in his environment would set one off, the situation causing the unreachable part of his mind to make itself known. He never actually remembered anything but he knew that something about the situation struck a chord from _before_.

"Like I said," Bridget remarked, "All you can do is ask."

"You'll keep your fingers crossed for me though, right?" Jim suggested, an easy grin stretching his lips.

"Toe and eyelashes, darlin'. Fingers, toes and eyelashes."

* * *

That night when Jim was lying in bed, reading, with the light set at 70%, he turned at page but stopped seeing the words. Instead what he saw was a nightmare. Before his eyes images started to flash of a world he'd never seen, or at least, a world he couldn't remember. Letting his lids flutter closed he gasped as the memory unfurled.

* * *

_He was standing on a balcony, overlooking a large square filled with many people, most of who were crying. _

_"Close your eyes when I tell you too Jimmy," said a voice from beside him. He turned and looked up at another boy, who was slightly older then he was, his hair just as blonde in the bright sunlight. It was Sam, his older brother. _

_A man stood on a raised platform below, calling out over the many heads, "Jackson, Ryan. Jackson, Elissa. Anderson, Gareth. Harlow, Nancy. Cho, John. Smith, Kenya. Oslo, Idris. Oslo, Karl. Step forward and know that what you are doing is for the greater good, let that be the last thought in your mind as you die."_

_They did not step forward, instead soldiers grabbed them and pushed them into the open space in front of the platform, forcing them to their knees. A little girl cried out over the noise of the square, "Mommy!" There was a scuffling and suddenly the girl was in the open space, running towards her mother, only to be caught by another of the adults and held back as she kicked and screamed. _

_"Mommy loves you, Rose, never forget, Mommy loves you!"_

_"Silence!" A guard hit the face of the woman on the end of the line, knocking her to the ground before roughly pulling her back up. She stayed quiet, out of fear or because she was in a daze from the blow, Jim was not sure. _

_"Shut your eyes, Jimmy, shut them now," Sam whispered frantically, gripping his hand._

_But Jim could not look away as the soldiers lined up in front of the people on their knees and on the order the man on the platform, shot them. _

_The thud of bodies hitting the ground met Jim's ears and blood flowed over the cobbles in the square. Many people wailed out, knowing that the same fate met them. As the bodies were moved the man on the platform once again read out another eight names. _

_Jim heard a strange keening sound coming from around him but he couldn't pin point where it was materializing from. Then Sam had wrapped his arms around him and he realized dully, as he gripped the front of Sam's t-shirt, that he was making the odd noise, it was the sound of his sobs. _

_"Bring him to me," He called from behind them. Sam held Jim harder, his grip almost choking. "Now." _

_Jim felt himself start to shake uncontrollably as Sam pried his hands away from his front and led him silently towards Him, where he was sitting in the shadows of the balcony, able to see the proceedings without being seen. The two boys stopped in front of Him and He reached out His long arms, grasping Jim around the waist and pulling him onto His knee. _

_"You know why I have to do this, don't you, son," He said, his voice oily, and Jim shuddered at the use of the endearment. Jim was not this man's son. _

_Left with no other choice, Jim nodded, but He continued to explain anyway, "It iss because we do not have enough food. It was either them, or we all die. We are the chosen ones, and you my sweet boy, with your brother, will rule this land long after I'm gone, to continue the standards I have set down for the people in this colony. Is that not what you want? To be a _King_? To be a _God_?" _

_Everything within Jim was screaming at him to run, to hide, and to get as far away from this man as possible. A man who thought he was _right _when really what he was doing was so _wrong_, in every sense of the word possible. Jim had no other choice but to agree with Him, and to tell him how grateful he was, despite how much the thought revolted him. If he did not agree he'd be punished, and Jim didn't like being punished. His back still hadn't healed from the last round of whipping. _

_It sickened him, disgusted him to the very core, what He was doing, made Jim want to go to sleep and to never wake up, just to get away from this, this farce of a ruler, of a life. He petted Jim's head in a manner that was meant to be sympathetic. "One day you'll see," He said vaguely as He set Jim back to the ground, "Now go and play with your brother." _

_Taking Jim's hand again Sam led him into the quiet darkness of the citadel and away from the shots and the screams._

* * *

The memory faded into nothing, white replacing the once vivid colours inside of his gasped, bolting up right in bed and looking around wildly.

_He was James Tiberius Kirk, he was twenty-eight years old, his birthday was March 23__rd__. He grew up in Iowa and both of his parents were dead, his brother, _Sam, _lived at the other end of the galaxy. He was a car mechanic. He lived in Drake's House in Salinas, Kansas, so he could be successfully integrated back into the community after the onset of Retrograde Amnesia cause by his involvement in a motor cycle accident._

Over and over he repeated the mantra. Trying to discern what he'd seen with what he knew, what was real, but that memory, that _nightmare_, it _was_ real.

He looked down and saw that he was holding the book in a death grip. Throwing it aside he rolled off of his bed and landed heavily on the floor. Shakily he pulled himself back to his feet as a sob ripped its way out of his chest, _all of those people…_

Using the wall for support he stumbled out into the hallway and along to Bridget's room, tripping over his own feet a few times and almost landing face first in the carpet during the short journey. Jim knocked hastily as another sob bubbled it way up to his lips. _He'd been so helpless to that man's power, utterly unable to stop what he knew was wrong._

"Jim?" Bridget asked and his eyes cut to her, his ears picking up her gasp over his own gut-wrenching sobs. Without asking she took his hands and pulling him gently inside, pushing him down onto her bed and sitting next to him. "What's the matter darlin'?" She asked softly, rubbing a hand soothingly over his back, "What's got ya like this?"

He couldn't answer, he could only wail as he relived the memory again, fresh in his mind as if it had happened the previous day. He cried for the people killed, for the little girl who had lost her mother, for himself and for Sam since they had to live through that and pretend that they agreed with their dictator's scheme.

At some point he lay down, curling up into a ball on Bridget's bed, unable to stop the tears from falling freely down his face as he continued to cry silently. All the while Bridget stayed with him, murmuring soothing words despite not knowing what had caused his distress and always keeping a hand on him somewhere, just to let him know that she was still there, that he was safe.

Sometime later Jim finally cried himself dry and was just lying there shaking when Bridget gently pushed his hair out of his eyes in a motherly gesture, "You want anything, darlin'? Tea? Coffee?"

"A glass of water please," he rasped, his throat dry and sore.

"Coming right up, you just hang tight," Bridget told him, squeezing his arm gently before leaving, disappearing into the hallway. Jim could hear her soft tread on the stairs.

He felt lost right then. He didn't know who he was. From the information he'd been told about himself he'd concluded that he'd lived on Earth his whole live but that place, that colony, was on Tarsus IV. He'd been whipped, he wondered…

"Bridget?" he asked as she came back into the room, a sweating glass of water clutched in her hand.

"Yes, darlin'?"

"Would you…check something for me," he croaked out, frowning as he sat up on the bed, "I was just- could you tell me if there's anything on my back, anything at all…please?"

"Of course, but why?" she questioned, placing the glass on her bedside table and coming to stand in front of him. "If I do this will you tell me what all of that," she gestured around herself, "was about?"

"I'll try," he murmured, balking at the idea of having to relay what he'd seen, have to relive it again.

"Let me see your back then…"

Wordlessly, Jim pulled his loose t-shirt up and over his head before turning around and exposing his back to Bridget. She sucked a breath in in between her teeth making apprehension seep through his veins, a prickling heat that spread slowly, completely unnerving him.

"What?" he asked frantically as he tried to turn his head to see his own skin, "What is it?"

"You're back…Jim, you're back is covered in scars!" Bridget exclaimed as she reached a hand out and began to trace them. From the touch Jim gathered their shape. Thin lines typically left from the slap of a whip against soft human flesh. He shuddered. His body had been mutilated at the hands of that man and he hadn't even known about it, unable to see his own back. Would he want to look at the scars? To see the puckered lines of healed skin marring the image of the smooth skinned back that he'd held in his head, assuming that that was what it would look like unable to actually see it when instead…

Forgetting about his shirt, Jim ran towards the en suit in Bridget's room, falling to his knees and retching over the porcelain toilet bowl but without bringing anything up. After a moment of continued retching he leant his head against the seat, gulping in lungful's of air. Bridget appeared beside him with the glass of water, which he took gratefully, downing it in one. Placing the glass to the side he threw himself backwards, sinking down to lean low against the wall.

"What happened?" Bridget asked his again, kneeling down in front of him and frowning.

"I remembered something," he admitted, gulping back the fresh tears that sprang to his eyes, "It wasn't a good something." Jim thought for a minute, thinking of how best to go one without causing himself anymore emotional strain. "There was a man, a man with an empty face and emotionless eyes. He had ordered people to be…executed, shot even, because there wasn't enough food on the planet for everyone to survive."

"Tarsus IV, that's what you're describing, the events on Tarsus IV in 2246. I can't remember it actually happening but I read about it while I was here. It was horrible. The Governor Kodos made the decision to kill four thousand of the colony's occupant's when an exotic fungus destroyed their food supplies," Bridget explained, her frown deepening. "You were there weren't you?"

Waves of nausea rolled through Jim again at the mention of the name so he only nodded, not wanting to risk voiding the contents of his stomach.

"Oh darlin', what a thing to remember," she patted his leg gently, trying to sooth him with her touch.

It worked too, this feeling different from the one in his memory. As the old woman comforted him it did not make waves of disgust crash through him as it had when Kodos had touched him. "I was in the citadel when it happened," he croaked out, "with my brother. He, Kodos, was making us watch the executions and when…when I started to cry he drew me onto his lap and told me that I was the one of his chosen. He and my older brother were to follow in his footsteps and rule after him. It revolted me. He told me that I'd be a King, be a God."

"Well you ain't either and I prefer you just the way you are," Bridget declared, drawing a small smile from Jim. "People who pretend to be God's or King's, Jim, lose sight of what it is real and what is present. Living in their own twisted head and abusing their power, eventually leading their own subjects killing 'em just to be free. The same things been repeated through history thousands of times and yet none of 'em learn that a little compassion and common sense can go a long way."

She sat back then and stared at Jim thoughtfully, "You know only nine of the survivors, all kids, ever saw Kodos' face. That makes you one of them. There are journals about the psyche evaluations they went through afterwards but all of the names are blacked out. You'll be in there somewhere."

"You think I should read them?" Jim asked, feeling the blood drain from his face.

"Oh God no!" Bridget said quickly. "Sometimes the past really is better left in the past… Was it Kodos? Who gave you those scars?"

"No," Jim shook his head, before snorting, "If my memory serves me, then it was one of his soldiers who actually whipped me…he ordered it though." There was a brief silence before- "Why did no one stop him? Surely there must have been someone who would have been notified…whoever deals with things like that."

"You mean Starfleet?" Bridger asked, "They did arrive eventually, too late to save any of the four thousand Kodos condemned though."

"Starfleet?" Jim mumbled. The name, it rolled off of his tongue in a way that left a strange taste behind it, pinging at the vast white in his head. His life was starting to unravel with the occurrence of this memory and he wasn't sure if he wanted to learn about his life _before_ anymore. If he'd witnessed such a massacre, would he really want to find out what type of man he used to be?

"Yeah, they're this right fancy operation who go about and explore other planet's and like, keep the peace between different civilizations and such…one of my old friends, who I remember from before I lost my memory, I write to her still, she has a son in Starfleet. I think he's a doctor actually…or a weapon's expert in the Science track. I'm not sure, either way, he wear's blue."

"Huh?" Jim shrugged, "Never heard of them."

Bridget snorted before saying sarcastically, "Well there's a surprise!"

* * *

**A/N: Sorry if it's a little late guys and not up to usual standard, I've been ill this week and I've just edited it while being really tired, I just want to try and get it to you on time because you're all so awesome :) Thank you everyone who's reviewed, favourited, followed and read this story so far, you guys are awesome and I look forward to find out what you though of this chapter :) I'm going to go to sleep now...Much love! xx**


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